


Pride, or What Goeth Before a Fall

by Toodleoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy of Errors, F/M, Gay, Hermione is confused, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Parody, Really confused, Romance, Severus is too!, Sweet, no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6807433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toodleoo/pseuds/Toodleoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it came to reading people, Hermione Granger was almost always right. How did she miss the fact that Snape was gay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part the First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cabepfir](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cabepfir).



> Written for cabepfir for the 2015 SSHG Gift Fest.
> 
>  _Warnings:_ A smattering of profanity throughout, as well as references to amorous affairs. I should probably also toss in a caveat about sensitivity here, as this story plays with some well-worn clichés, but also tries to call out any attempts to oversimplify the incredibly complex spectrum of human sexuality.

In hindsight, Hermione should have known it all along.

Observant, sensitive, and keenly attuned to the emotions of the people around her, she routinely picked up on the little things that other people missed. She was cautious and she was smart, and she let the details speak for themselves, never relying on what some called 'intuition' and what she called 'lucky guesses made by those who couldn't be arsed by facts'.

She'd met _him_ —met them all—when she was just eleven years old.

She should have seen it coming.

She should have known better.

She should have known that Severus Snape was gay.

Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, wasn't she? Top of her class every year in school from her kindergarten year straight through her N.E.W.T.s, with Muggle A-levels in French, critical thinking, psychology, and mathematics to boot.

Not to mention the more-than-passing success she'd had throughout her extracurricular activities at Hogwarts. There was the legal work—pro bono, mind you—on Buckbeak's behalf, the successful capture and use of interrogation techniques on a certain malevolent beetle during her fourth year, and the assistance she provided to help her best friend save the world.

As for all the men in her life? She should have seen the truth because she was Hermione Jean Granger, and Hermione Jean Granger was (almost) always right.

* * *

The first surprise was Malfoy.

Well, that one wasn't a surprise _per se_ , but she had held back her judgment until incontrovertible proof was staring her (naked) in the face. Draco had always been a little too pretty for his own good. And he knew it, the bastard. Perfect, porcelain skin that made a fourteen-year-old girl weep from jealousy. Silky, baby-fine blond hair that she would have killed for during every one of her pre-ball/pre-date/pre-photo-for-work-badge-at-the-Ministry-day hair-taming sessions. Hermione had never been caught up in the Draco Malfoy craze that swept through her year with abandon (something about being routinely insulted within an inch of her life prevented such longings), but even she couldn't help but admire the clean lines and beautiful proportions of his straight, even teeth.

Looking back on the androgyny of his upbringing? If Freud was right about psychosexual development based on parental models, Draco was screwed from the get-go.

  * **FACT: MA AND PA MALFOY MIGHT AS WELL HAVE HAD INTERCHANGEABLE SNAP-ON BITS FOR PHYSICALLY DIFFERENTIATED AS THEY WERE OTHERWISE.**
  * **HIM: TALL AND LITHE, CONSTANT EXPRESSION OF DISDAIN, WITH LONG, STRAIGHT BLOND HAIR.**
  * **HER: TALL AND LITHE, CONSTANT EXPRESSION OF DISDAIN, WITH LONG, STRAIGHT BLONDE HAIR.**



The difference between them? An 'e'. A single letter. Well, that, and Narcissa may have had a slightly stronger jawline.

Of course, she wasn't going to make any assumptions without proof. She was a practical girl, and she was enlightened and empowered in ways the wizarding world could barely comprehend. Her Freud and Adler and Jung (accompanied by her Friedan and Beauvoir and Kristeva) filtered Malfoy down to a complicated mass of intentions and desires, but she wasn't going to assume that she could fully understand him or his enigmatic sexuality, no matter how well-tailored his suits were or how many times he showed up at Ministry events without a date.

She had wondered for a few years: perhaps he was gay. Perhaps he wasn't. He never said anything on the subject, and it wasn't her right to out anyone, not even an annoying wanker like Draco Malfoy. Until he said otherwise, he wasn't yet filed under Hermione's mental heading of 'charming young men who sell antiques.' Forcefully resisting any heteronormatising urges she (or Society) may (or may not) have held, he was likewise not filed under 'football hooligans with pin-up calendars in their garages.'

It wasn't until Harry's twenty-sixth birthday that the hard evidence about Draco Malfoy presented itself.

* * *

When she had sneaked into Number 12, Grimmauld Place, at 5:45 in the morning to set up a cake from her favourite bakery and a series of presents for her best friend, Hermione had expected to find a quiet, empty house.

She had expected to find to find the house dark. She had thought that Kreacher might perhaps have been up and about, preparing breakfast for the young master before he woke. After all, the elf was significantly friendlier to everyone these days (even to her, which was probably residual thankfulness for the quilt that he still curled up in at night), so she didn't think much of it when she saw the light under the kitchen door and heard some odd noises beyond it at approximately 5:46 A.M.

Didn't think much of it at all.

She had a great deal more to think about at approximately 5:47 A.M. _That_ was when she quietly opened the door, not wanting to disturb the house elf as he worked on whatever she had thought he must have been doing so diligently on Harry's behalf.

She had more to think about because the steady, rhythmic slapping noises behind the door were not the sounds of a house elf punching down a slab of dough for pastries of any kind, and the occasional groaning was not Kreacher's sciatica acting up.

Nope.

Not at all.

She was never eating from that counter again.

The first question that ran through Hermione's mind? 'Damnit, Harry, you can't even bother to tell me when you're shagging someone?'

The second: 'Damnit, Harry, you can't even bother to tell me you're gay?'

Shock thankfully silenced her tongue while her brain rattled through those two items. Then her brain had rolled around to its third observation: 'I need to affirm Harry in all his sexuality and personhood.'

She repeated this mantra internally as she watched her dearest friend peel his naked self off an equally naked and aroused Draco Malfoy.

Hard evidence, indeed.

Should she have guessed about Harry, too? His interest in Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley never sat quite right with her when they were at Hogwarts together.

Harry scrambled off the counter, knocking a jumbled pile of spatulas and rubber scrapers onto the floor. He whipped on an apron she'd given him a few years back with 'May the Forks be With You' boldly emblazoned across the front, and ran over to the doorway where she stood, her jaw metaphorically on the floor along with all the wrapped presents she'd been carrying.

He had ruffled his hands through his (even messier than usual) hair, spluttered out a few 'Well, you see, Hermione's and 'I've been meaning to tell you's, and peaked over his shoulder to admire an entirely nude Draco Malfoy proudly displaying himself. When it was clear to Harry that his lover wasn't going to attempt to cover himself up, he tossed him the nearest available snippet of fabric (in this case, a bright orange oven mitt) and hissed out a 'Pleasssse' at the blond.

Smiling, Draco slipped it onto his right hand.

Harry collapsed into a coughing fit, turning red with embarrassment.

So Draco moved the oven mitt to a more propitious location.

Hermione decided that it was a good thing she couldn't bake herself out of a cardboard box, since she was never touching that oven mitt again, either.

* * *

At first, she assumed that Harry would take a few weeks and get Malfoy out of his system. Then he could move forward with more of a long-term relationship. The boy had wanted a family ever since he'd grown up without one, after all. This thing with Malfoy would be a torrid affair in which Harry could have lots of regular, lovely sex with a beautiful, _beautiful_ man, but her dear friend needed someone a touch more reliable and much more emotionally available.

When it was over, Hermione thought, she could casually invite Harry out to lunch with her co-worker Tim Tambling-Goggin, a thoughtful, steady man who shared an office with her at the Ministry. He had a sort of sandy brown hair and a kind (if somewhat generic) face, and he was always prompt and tidy. He just screamed Dependable Family Man, and Hermione knew he hadn't seen anyone seriously since his last fellow had run off a few years ago to work on a cruise ship circling the Caribbean. She could casually invite Harry and Tim to lunch, casually 'forget' that she needed to be someplace else to do something else, and Harry and Tim would fall madly and casually in love.

Or maybe she could encourage Charlie Weasley to cast a glance his way. He wasn't married yet. Mum Weasley already thought of Harry as a son, even if she had thought she would be acquiring him legally via her daughter in marriage rather than one of her sons. She'd still be thrilled. Plus Charlie still lived in Romania, so he could date Harry from a distance and they'd still be fine if it didn't work out.

Kingsley? He was a real possibility. He was taller than Draco, and he was stronger, and he was just as handsome. A wall of man. He'd also personally promoted Hermione twice, so he clearly showed good judgment. Of course, he was in the limelight at all times due to his political role, and Harry didn't like a lot of publicity.

It's just that Harry wasn't in a hurry to leave Draco.

He was too nice to drop a bloke, her Harry.

Then why wasn't _Draco_ moving on? There was nothing _nice_ about him. The sex couldn't be _that_ good, could it?

Apparently, it could be.

Since Harry wasn't bothering to correct his number one place on _Witch Weekly_ 's 'Most Desirable Bachelors' List, he needed an ear to talk to about his relationship. She had listened to him for everyone else he'd ever dated, so she wasn't about to turn him away simply because his current paramour had made her life miserable once upon a time. She tried to be supportive.

Draco shagged like a daemon, according to Harry, and kissed like an angel. He also cooked dinner for him every evening and fussed over what ties he wore and nibbled behind his ear in this way he'd never known he liked and... and...

Frankly, Hermione was jealous. Not of Harry so much—he deserved every iota of love thrown his way after surviving his ghastly upbringing and willingly walking into the face of Death to save all of wizardkind.

No, she was jealous of Malfoy. The evil little wanker stood by while she pissed herself on the drawing room carpet and his mad Auntie Bella carved her remembrances into Hermione's skin. What did _he_ do to earn someone like Harry loving him?

After the Birthday Incident (as they were calling it), Harry had invited Hermione over to brunch with Malfoy on Saturday mornings. For Harry's sake, she begrudgingly showed up to try to Get to Know the Real Draco. She tried to withhold judgment as they affectionately puttered around the house, and she hated herself for thinking it adorable that Draco ruffled Harry's hair when he was nearby and kissed the tip of his nose when he thought she wasn't looking. She showed up every Saturday—for Harry—and she ate the proffered Quiches of Peace that Draco baked.

If the sex was half as good as the food, Harry was a lucky man.

Hermione was not surprised to learn that Draco cheated in every game of Exploding Snap or that he exhibited a delightfully inappropriate sense of humour at all times, but she was startled to discover just how badly he wanted her to like him and approve of the relationship. This knowledge gave her a peculiar kind of power, one that humbled Malfoy, and Hermione found herself slowly coming around to the man he had become.

After all, Malfoy couldn't be all bad. He'd chosen Harry, which demonstrated excellent taste, and he willingly read the Muggle newspapers she brought along every week. When she needed a new cocktail dress for a Ministry do, Draco whisked her off to Paris to his mum's favorite clothier. He was a bit needlessly handsy with her, but Hermione didn't mind when her coworkers' jaws hit the floor upon her arrival. She had never looked better than she had in that red dress, even if she couldn't tell you what kind of pleating the gown had or even what the material was.

Slowly but surely, Hermione had come around.

When the relationship hit five months, Draco had moved in with Harry. By that time, Hermione had been delighted.

There was a brief rough patch at around seven months when Harry and Draco had finally rehashed the past and said all the unspoken things they'd been avoiding. After receiving a note by owl, Hermione had stayed at his home for about a week, doing her sisterly duties. She ordered takeout from all her favorite places while Harry cried and shouted himself to sleep in an ugly, snotty mess, and she sent him off to the Burrow to work out his anger with Ron and others on their makeshift Quidditch pitch. When he complained about his argument with Draco, Hermione curled up beside him and stroked his hair, encouraging him to see things from the other man's perspective. The blond arrived with an apology and some overpriced ale he knew Harry liked at the end of day eight, and Hermione knew all was well with the world.

She left her boys to make up and Floo'ed home to her quiet flat.

Their routine Saturday brunches then expanded to include other close friends and family. First was Narcissa Malfoy, who doted on Harry with an affection that rivalled Molly Weasley's. She never knew quite what to make of Hermione, and peppered her with womanly advice—charms to straighten her hair, lengthen her eyelashes, and tailor her skirts. She was always dressed to the nines herself, and couldn't comprehend why Hermione would show up in flats and leggings when she could be in tailored dress robes. Hermione suspected that Draco was subject to this treatment in his formative years, as he often came to her defence with his mum.

Harry and Draco managed a reconciliation of the Black sisters, so Andromeda and little Teddy Lupin joined the ever-growing clutch of people as well. Hermione warmed to Draco considerably when she saw the man making pancakes shaped like broomsticks and snitches for the young boy. Andromeda simply adored Draco, and Hermione was glad to have the opportunity to spend more time with the warm, friendly witch. Teddy simply adored Harry, and often mimicked his appearance when he was there. He was eight years old now, but still on the smallish side.

Sometimes Severus Snape would show up to eat with them and work the crossword puzzle in Hermione's paper at the table in the corner. He usually ignored them all, the only clue that he was aware of them being the frequent and dramatic eye rolling when Harry and Draco were being sweet and demonstrative. Oh, he occasionally piped up when Andromeda and Hermione got into debates on politics and magical theories, but only to correct and rebuke them. He was quiet about his own life. Most of the time, that was. On one occasion, he had gone off on a tirade about his failing apothecary, but then he'd bottled himself up tighter than ever. Hermione had heard it rumoured that Snape was Draco's godfather or some such business, and he was evidently trying to make peace with the idea of a Potter shacking up with the closest thing he had to family. A prickly man, he never really seemed like he wanted to be there, but he came with great regularity nevertheless.

When the relationship hit a year, Hermione was sold. Harry and Draco were in it for the long haul. She'd never seen her friend so deliriously happy or so eager to redecorate. Anyone who saw Harry with Draco knew that they were meant to be.

That, unfortunately, was the problem, since nobody outside of their small circle knew that they were close, much less lovers. They managed awkward and stilted conversation at public affairs, ignoring one another until they returned to their home.

As much as Hermione loved the wizarding world, it was strangely anachronistic and backwards at times. There was no acceptable reason for Dumbledore to hide the truth about his sexuality for all those years. Hermione considered what Harry and Draco and Kingsley and Charlie and every other gay wizard or witch was going through. How many more people were living in the closet (cupboard?) out of fear of social backlash?

* * *

'Dear girl,' Narcissa said to Hermione one Saturday morning, 'you know, there's a simple charm to firm up your you-know-whats.' With a genteel flick of the wrist, the woman gestured towards Hermione's décolletage.

Hermione looked down at her chest. They seemed as perky as ever to her, but maybe Pureblood ones were supposed to be up at her armpits?

Perhaps it was the angle. They were all seated around the dining room table, a Black family heirloom covered in ornate carvings, most of which looked like flowers and leaves. Surely the portraits on the walls had a better view down her shirt.

'Breasts, mother?' Draco poured himself another cup of coffee.

'Draco!' Narcissa gasped, dropping her fork with a clatter. 'Where are your manner _s_?'

Hermione held her breath. It was best to sit back and let Draco handle his mother in his own way.

'Her baps? Bristols?' Draco's grin grew from ear to ear. 'Hermione's knockers?'

Andromeda burst into laughter.

Snape's cheeks tinged a shade of pink Hermione had never seen before, but his eyes never strayed from the _Guardian_ unfolded before him.

'You do not need to be deliberately provocative!' Narcissa snapped, hissing the words under her breath as if she were speaking to adolescent boy rather than a full-grown man.

Draco shrugged. 'Saying "you-know-whats" sounds ridiculous. Just say the word aloud, mother.'

 _That's right_ _,_ Hermione thought to herself. _Dumbledore always said that the fear of a name increased the fear of the thing itself. Of course, given the Grindelwald stories, Dumbledore himself was probably afraid of breasts._

'But Teddy—' Narcissa continued, scrambling to find a reason to quiet her son.

'Left with Harry for the library twenty minutes ago,' Draco said, interrupting. He walked over to his mother and leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. 'I know you have a plethora of wisdom you wish you could have passed down to a daughter or daughter-in-law, but since that day's never coming, please leave Hermione be.'

'That's just it,' Narcissa huffed. 'A girl learns these types of spells from her mother. Since Hermione's mother is a Muggle—not that I'm saying anything about your unfortunate parentage, dear—she has missed out on the opportunity to learn them.'

'She doesn't _need_ them.'

Hermione smiled, appreciating the absurdity of the situation. By now, she knew better than to interrupt Draco and his mum when they got going on a topic, even if that topic was her breasts and they were speaking as though she weren't in the room. She had learnt weeks ago that the point of a Malfoy argument was never to determine what was correct but _who_ was correct.

'Hermione, dear, I hope you know I'm not saying that you don't have lovely...' She waved an elegant hand in the air, clearly at a loss for words.

'Breasts!'

'...that you don't have a lovely figure,' Narcissa continued, ignoring her son, 'but every woman can use a lift once she's on the wrong side of eighteen.'

'Her tits are glorious,' Draco insisted, setting down his cup. He marched over to Hermione, stood behind her, and protectively wrapped his hands around the body parts in question.

Hermione let out a startled squeak as he jiggled her breasts, punctuating his speech in a rather sweet, if misguided gesture. Privately, she agreed with Draco. Her thighs may have been a bit more voluptuous than she liked, and her hair a bit more chaotic than she'd have preferred, but she loved her breasts and thought than any man she let near them should be thanking his lucky stars. _Not that they'd seen many men over the years_ , she thought, _or any men lately at all_.

'Glorious,' he declared. She heard the edge in his voice that signalled his determination to win. It was the same tone as when he'd persuade Harry to wear the striped Oxford with a tie in a coordinating plaid for New Year's. He then turned to the others. ''Aren't they, Andromeda?'

Poor Andromeda could barely breathe, doubled over in her seat as she was, laughing.

'Severus?'

Snape's head shot up so fast Hermione thought she could hear a skeletal snap. He had obviously learnt to butt out of Malfoy debates as well, and held his tongue.

But Draco was looking at him, expecting an answer. 'Well?' he asked, squeezing her again.

Hermione gauged his reaction out of the corner of her eye. He was steadfastly focussed on his godson rather than on her. He pressed a napkin to his mouth, folded it neatly, and dropped it to the table.

'Draco,' he said, speaking quietly and deliberately, 'I am not the sort of man who goes around appraising women's bodies in this… fashion.'

His eyes dropped to Draco's hands on her breasts, and Hermione felt all strangeness of the situation washing over her anew. Although she was more comfortable around Snape now than she ever was in her younger years, there was something about the man the kept her a bit on edge.

Still, the kind of bored disinterest he displayed while staring down her glorious tits was depressing. He had permission to ogle her all he liked, and he wasn't even really paying attention. Her breasts were rather difficult for most men to ignore, and here was Snape, treating them like dreary wallpaper that he'd rather not look at it.

She pried Draco's fingers off her body and turned around to pat him on the cheek affectionately before grabbing her own mug. Then she scooted into an empty seat beside Andromeda, who was still recovering the ability to breathe again.

'I didn't think you were that sort of man, either,' Snape said to Draco, folding the paper he was reading in half. His lip curled in distaste. 'There's nothing wrong in admitting you don't know your way around a woman's body. Especially now, seeing as you've taken up with Potter.'

'Did I hear my name?' Harry asked, bounding down back staircase into the dining room with a giggling Teddy on his heels. He lifted the miniature version of himself onto the counter and tossed him an orange.

When nobody answered, Harry looked around the table.

Gulping down the last of his coffee, Snape folded the newspaper and stood. When he spoke, his voice was sharp. 'I've filled my quota of you lot for the month.' He stalked out of the room in the direction of the Floo. 'I'll return when something akin sanity has been reestablished.'

The _whoosh_ of the Floo could be heard faintly in other room.

'What's going on?' Harry asked Hermione, befuddled by the odd tension in the room.

She dropped her head to the table and groaned.

Looking back, that exchange should have been her first clue. Yes, she should have known it then, since no straight man had ever ignored her breasts. And did Snape just compare himself to Draco? He _did_ , didn't he? This newfound realisation hit her like a proverbial tonne of bricks.

Was Severus Snape really… gay?


	2. Part the Second

Hermione felt she owed it to Snape to confirm her suspicions, so she began paying much closer attention to the man.

She noticed all sorts of things. For one, the man's wardrobe fit him like a glove. Not just any glove, but like one of those latex gloves that doctors and healers snapped onto their hands before inserting their fingers in unmentionable places.

  * **FACT: SEVERUS SNAPE WORE IMMACULATELY TAILORED CLOTHES THAT SHOWED OFF HIS RATHER WELL-TONED ARSE.**



Hermione compared this to what she knew of her straight male friends. Ron and Neville, both straighter than wands, could barely dress themselves. Hermione wasn't fashionable herself, but even she knew that her straight pals were sartorial disasters. Ron wore reds and maroons that clashed hideously with his hair, with trouser hems that only approximately hit the tops of his shoes. Neville was, if anything, even worse. He was fit now in ways Hermione could never have predicted, but his clothing hung off him, crusted over in spots with colourful stuff that she hoped was plant based. If she needed any additional proof, she had Arthur Weasley. The man's brood was evidence of his virility; he had fathered more children than anyone she knew, and yet he always looked as though a closet from the 1970s had thrown up on him.

Not so with Snape. His color choice was fairly mundane and monochromatic, awash in blacks and greys, but his clothes were well made and well cared for.

For that matter, his body was well cared for. Once she had started looking at Snape, she found it hard to stop. In her tamer daydreams, she'd catch herself thinking about leaning over Harry's breakfast table, unbuttoning Snape's shirt at the wrists, and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows to reveal lightly muscled forearms and the faint outline of the Dark Mark.

Then she'd add, 'Find a man for myself, preferably straight,' at the bottom of her list of things to do.

Of course, the body and the clothes didn't necessarily confirm everything about Snape's sexuality, but more odds and ends kept popping up.

There was that time one Saturday morning when Narcissa had been badgering the poor man about accompanying her on some trip abroad. The exchange had been brief, but memorable: Narcissa dangled the offer of opera tickets in an attempt to entice him to join her in Paris, and he refused, saying that brunching with her and her emotionally stunted son a few times a month was all he could handle.

  * **FACT: SEVERUS SNAPE LISTENED TO OPERA.**
  * **FACT: SEVERUS SNAPE USED THE WORD 'BRUNCH' AS A VERB.**



Those were both promising.

Hermione consulted the copy of _Homosexuality: A History_ she had picked up following the Breakfast Incident. She flipped to the alphabetized index. 'Opera' had its own listing, as did 'brunch.'

She considered her options. Was there a way to get Snape to open up about his personal life?

Preoccupied with her own life, she'd never really considered before just how lonely the man must be. She never saw him with anyone besides the Malfoys. He was rarely out in public, save for a few war-related memorials and holiday fêtes that Narcissa dragged him to.

Had he dated since the war ended? For that matter, Hermione had never heard of Snape ever holding a relationship, even when Snape was a younger man. Had he ever even been on a date or kissed a woman?

Hermione began to entertain the possibility that Snape had never really loved Lily Evans _romantically_. Obviously, he had cherished her as his friend. Maybe his anger towards James could be chalked up to simple jealousy rather than what was perceived as some great thwarted love affair.

Maybe Snape had never even considered Lily—or any woman—sexually.

Maybe he'd used his devotion to a woman who didn't want him as shield to keep him from acknowledging some deeper truth about himself.

Maybe Snape didn't even know he was gay.

* * *

Hermione needed some facts about Snape confirmed before she made her next move, so she devised a Clever Plan. She would set it in motion the next time she saw him, which would inevitably be at Harry and Draco's dining room on another Saturday morning gathering.

Snape didn't show up the following week, so Hermione needed to wait another seven days. The anticipation was killing her, but finally, the time was right. She waited until Severus was seated with a full cup of tea and a slice of Draco's tomato tarte tatin.

'You know,' she declared a little too loudly and to nobody in particular, 'it's been a long time since I've been taken out on a date.'

Narcissa and Severus were down at the far end of the table, the former daintily sipping her tea and staring out the window to the little patch of greenery behind the house, the latter scribbling something in a notepad as he flipped through a potions journal.

'Three years,' Hermione added. Using her peripheral vision to aid her in this subterfuge, she watched Snape to see if he would acknowledge her in any way.

He didn't.

Harry cast a meaningful glance at Draco, who was busy cleaning under his fingernails with a series of silent spells. Then Harry elbowed him in the side and tilted his head towards Hermione.

'Oh,' the blond said, trying to pick up on what his lover was drawing his attention towards. He smirked. 'Do you want a new vibrator for Christmas, Granger?'

Harry nearly spat out his eggs. Eyes watering, he glared at Draco and shook his head, gulping down a glass of the poncy pomegranate juice Kreacher kept stocked for Young Master Malfoy.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Even if she (mostly) liked the idiot now, Draco was still an unmitigated arse.

'I'm sure we can find something for you to scratch that itch,' he continued. He occupied himself with an elaborate display of selecting a muffin, splitting it open, and loading it with half a jar of sweet orange marmalade before handing it over to his partner. Harry always did have a sweet tooth. 'It'll be top of the line. Nothing but the best for our girl, right, Harry? If we search for one without batteries—'

A loud clatter in the other room signaled the arrival of Andromeda and Teddy, effectively cutting Draco off mid-sentence. The older woman walked into the dining room with her grandson.

'Three years without a date,' Hermione stated, 'is not that bad.' She passed the tarte to Andromeda as the woman sat down on her left. 'Andromeda, when was the last time you went out with a man?'

Teddy's eyes opened wide. He grabbed an orange and a croissant, mumbling out a quick goodbye before fleeing the scene.

'Eight and a half years ago,' Andromeda answered, her voice quiet. She patted Hermione's hand absentmindedly. 'Ted was the love of my life. He used to take me dancing every Friday night, even through that last terrible year.'

Hermione nodded sympathetically.

'If Teddy counts,' Andromeda added with a smile, 'a young gentleman escorted me to the London Zoo a month ago.' The woman set about fixing herself a plate of food and accepted a cup of tea from her sister.

'I can't believe you went without me,' Harry muttered, scrunching up the linen napkin beside his plate. Draco had replaced all the linens in Grimmauld Place earlier in the month, and even Hermione had to admit that it was a welcome change from the worn, embroidered things left over from the reign of Sirius's mum.

Andromeda sighed. 'You were working a double shift.'

Harry frowned. 'Still.'

'You can take him back there next month,' Andromeda promised him.

Harry grinned. 'Deal.'

Hermione admired her friend for his dedication to his godson, knowing that he would make an excellent father one day. Draco still needed to develop some tact and sensitivity before he'd be ready for that kind of responsibility, but Hermione trusted that there was more substance hiding under the manicures and that perfect hair. Of course, Hermione still had to figure out how to get them to go public. Anyone could hide a relationship from the press, but hiding an entire family would be next to impossible.

Before anyone had the chance to change the subject, Hermione spoke up again. 'How about you, Narcissa? Are you still seeing that gentleman from Italy?'

Narcissa wrinkled her nose. 'I only agreed to see Umberto as a favour to Sophia Zabini. She needed someone to get him off her hands, and I had a free evening.'

'Is that a no, then, Mother?' Draco asked.

'The man was a bore,' she stated. 'I'm already on my third since him.'

Draco winced, clearly wanting to avoid talk of his mother's rather active love life. Following the traditional yearlong period of mourning after Lucius's untimely passing, Narcissa had been photographed on the arms of powerful wizards from Paris to Palau. Hermione threw Draco a bone, redirecting the conversation. 'How about you, Draco?'

'When did a man last take me out?' He drummed his fingertips on his pointy chin. 'Harry whisked me off to Greece last month. We had a long weekend of beaches and souvlaki on Santorini.'

'Harry's not that smooth,' Hermione replied, a note of doubt in her voice. She eyed her friend across the table, waiting for his reply.

'Technically, he was the one doing the whisking,' Harry conceded. He slid the last piece of his partner's tomato tarte onto the plate before him, cutting it into pieces with the edge of his fork. 'I'm not allowed to plan any trips for the two of us anymore.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Draco, who shuddered in response. 'He suffers from the delusion that it's acceptable to sleep outdoors and walk along paths of nothingness for hours on end.'

'Is this why you asked Teddy to go camping with you?' Andromeda asked Harry.

He nodded. 'Nobody else will go.'

Hermione held up both hands defensively. 'Don't look at me. One year in a tent was more than enough for a lifetime.'

'Why the sudden interest in everyone's love life, Granger?' Draco asked.

'It's not… I'm not… I…' Hermione stuttered, then recollected herself, and smiled. 'Just making small talk.' She looked askance at Snape. Now was the time to go for the kill. She began peeling an apple with a paring knife in order to avoid making eye contact with anyone. 'How about you, Snape?'

The room fell silent.

She could sense the man's dark gaze on her as she steadily sliced her apple.

Draco sniggered. 'Are you seriously asking Severus the last time someone took him out on a date?'

Snape sent a minor hex his way, a silent, wandless spell that made Draco jump in his seat. 'Sod off, boy.'

Narcissa stood abruptly. 'Hermione, dear, there's a volume I've been meaning to show you from the Black collection.' She charmed her teacup and saucer to levitate behind her, then pulled Hermione into the hallway, nearly ripping her arm out of its socket, and led her up one flight of stairs with the teacup bobbing along behind. When both women entered the room, Narcissa closed and locked the door, casting a Silencing Charm over the space.

Her voice was cold and direct. 'My dear girl, what on earth do you think you're doing?'

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to another, feeling accosted by the woman. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Your technique is woefully lacking, darling,' Narcissa replied. She plucked her teacup and saucer out of the air and took a sip. 'I appreciate the intention, really, I do, but that man will never divulge his deepest desires or his past paramours over a plate of scones and some scrambled eggs. Not to you. Do restrain yourself.'

Hermione held her head high in defiance, fighting the blush creeping up her neck. She knew the Malfoys knew Snape better than she did, but she wasn't a child. Turning her back on Draco's mother, she walked a little further into the room and settled into one of the leather armchairs clustered under the central chandelier.

Narcissa took a few steps towards her and continued speaking. 'If you are merely fishing for information because you find yourself bored on a crisp winter morning, I assure you that you I love that man as though he were my own family, and I won't allow you to play any games with him for your own amusement.'

'Family?' Hermione asked. Maybe the rumours were true. ' _Is_ he Draco's godfather?'

'No!' Narcissa protested. She shook her head. 'Why is everyone under that impression? Severus is a good man, but he isn't exactly Malfoy material. He's certainly not Black material. In those circles, he would be a third cousin that nobody ever speaks to at family reunions.'

Hermione pulled back in her seat, annoyed on behalf of the man who she felt deserved more respect than any of Narcissa's society relations, most of whom were crazy or dead or both. 'That's not very kind.'

'Pish, posh!' Narcissa retorted, crossing over to Hermione. She loomed over the younger woman. 'He'd prefer it that way. After what that man's survived, I doubt he could tolerate any social niceties for more than a few minutes.'

'Funny. I wasn't aware that any of you were _nice_ ,' Hermione said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

'We're not,' Narcissa replied. She sighed. 'I see I need to repeat myself. What are you after with Severus?' Narcissa took the seat across from Hermione, brushing nonexistent lint off her silk dress as she made herself at home, perched on the very edge of the chair. Then, relaxing just a bit, she revealed a rare display of genuine warmth. 'I don't want to see him hurt.'

Touched by the woman's words, Hermione reached out and touched her hand. 'I don't, either. I just wanted to know if Severus had moved on since… Well, since…' Hermione left the words unspoken.

'Since Miss Evans?'

'Frankly, yes.'

'There have been a few. Nothing permanent.' Narcissa's voice was hesitant, but her words were direct and to the point. 'He's a confirmed bachelor now, my dear.'

Hermione looked at her quizzically.

'Just so we're clear,' Narcissa added, 'you are not, as they say, Severus's type.'

Hermione nodded. 'Not his type'? That was one way of putting it. 'A confirmed bachelor'? There were a thousand euphemisms for homosexuality these days, but those were hard to misunderstand. Hermione spoke slowly. 'Yes. Yes, I suspected as much.'

Narcissa sat back in her chair, clearly evaluating her.

Refusing to be intimidated, Hermione spoke up again. 'I just want him to be happy. Doesn't he deserve a little bit of happiness?'

'Really? That's it, is it? His happiness?' Narcissa set her teacup down on an end table and leaned in towards Hermione, a predator closing in on her prey. 'You think you— _you_ , Miss Granger—will be the person securing his happiness?'

Hermione considered this. She'd never had much (or any) success as a matchmaker, but she knew a few eligible men who might suit Snape. She thought about a happy Severus Snape, a man who had gone underappreciated for all of his adult life, suddenly finding himself deeply and genuinely loved, and she smiled. 'Yes. Well, maybe. I hope so, at least. I want to try.'

'You certainly have faith in your own abilities.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I don't think there's any sort of magic behind this or anything special about me. I just think that perhaps we don't consciously attend to the happiness of others. I want to do this for him.'

Narcissa leaned back, holding herself impossibly erect. She raised a single perfectly groomed eyebrow. 'You do know that the man is congenitally predisposed to misery, don't you?

Hermione swallowed. This might be harder than she'd thought.

* * *

It had been a strange morning all around, but Hermione took Narcissa's words as her seal of approval. Oddly enough, the blonde seemed to be giving her blessing to Hermione's interference into Snape's love life (or lack thereof).

Next, Hermione had to select a gentleman caller for her erstwhile professor. She ran over the list of available men she had initially come up with for Harry, putting them through her Snape filter. Could any of them be a passable companion to someone as powerful, as brilliant, and as adversarial as Severus Snape? He was a proud man, and he wouldn't take kindly to her intervention in his life unless she found someone who could match him well.

  * **PROSPECT #1: Charlie Weasley, dragon wrangler extraordinaire.** **Younger than Snape, yes, but confidence oozing out his pores. Headstrong enough to keep up. Both outsiders to traditional English wizarding society. Charlie would be visiting home in two weeks' time.**


  * **PROSPECT #2: Tim Tambling-Goggin, her thoughtful coworker.** **A steady, warm (but admittedly milquetoast) man who needed someone to care for. So kind and gentle that Snape would eat him for breakfast. Come to think of it, Snape would probably terrify the man into complete silence.**


  * **PROSPECT #3: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.** **The history between the two could either work in their favour or work against them—unclear. Physically, exact opposites, but the power between the two men would be electric. Would Snape reject Shacklebolt because of his role in the Ministry?**



Hermione took a gander over her notes and scratched dear, sweet Tim off the list. Left with two fairly decent options, she weighed Charlie against Kingsley and decided that the former was a safer bet for good chemistry.

In the best case scenario Hermione could dream up, Snape and Charlie would hit it off, settle down somewhere in the wilds of Not England, and live a long and happy life together. Hermione tried to envision Christmas gatherings with the whole Weasley clan with Snape in a black knitted Weasley jumper, perched on Charlie's muscular lap. Would Molly go for a traditional 'S' on the front, or would she work a serpent into the pattern with a grey or green yarn?

Worst case scenario? Snape and Charlie wouldn't be able to move past the teacher-student dynamic they'd established at Hogwarts. Snape would retreat to wherever he happened to live in England, while Charlie could return to Romania. They could both forget all about it and move on with zero chance of ever seeing each other again.

In a sort of middling scenario, Hermione thought they could just establish a sort of friends-with-benefits type of fling. They could both get some pleasure out of one another in a safe, adult relationship.

_A safe, pleasurable, adult relationship shouldn't be that difficult_ , Hermione thought.

She sighed. For all her talk about 'three years' being bearable without a significant other, she missed having someone special in her life. A small part of her missed having someone to look after her and care for her, someone to take her out to a new restaurant opening and listen to her after a long day of work at the Ministry. Viktor had even rubbed her feet for her when they had reconnected. However, a bigger part of her missed having someone to look after and care for. She knew she could be overbearing at times, even if most people thought she was oblivious to her own bossiness. She'd mothered Harry and Ron through years of schooling, and she continued to look after them even now. While the independence of the single life was satisfying in its own way, Hermione longed for someone to care for.

Maybe karma would be on her side if she helped Snape find the love of his life.

* * *

'I've set up a lunch meeting for you with Charlie Weasley,' Hermione announced to Snape one morning at Grimmauld Place. What she didn't announce was how it had taken four separate letters and one Howler—the proverbial nail in the coffin, so to speak—to convince Charlie to add an hour with Snape to his itinerary. She hadn't exactly told him that this was a blind date, either, since that might have scared him off. Instead, she simply assured him that a chat with his professor would be good for them both.

'Bully for you,' Snape stated. He didn't look up from his plate, reaching across the table for some marmalade to spread on his toast, all of which he did with sharp, controlled movements. 'He'll enjoy an empty table and I'll enjoy my own cookery in the quiet of my house.'

'It's just an hour.'

'No.'

'Please?'

'Have you taken leave of your senses?' He looked at her with suspicion.

'You might enjoy yourself.'

Snape now stared at her as though she had grown a second head. 'I have _never_ enjoyed a Weasley.'

Harry and the Malfoy-Blacks all watched this unfold as though they were spectators at Wimbledon.

Hermione felt their eyes on her. She waited a moment or two, giving Snape time to say something else. He didn't bite, so she spoke up again. 'It's at the Three Broomsticks for tomorrow at noon.'

'Have you recently suffered some sort of cranial injury? What makes you think I want you filling my calendar with lunch meetings with near strangers?' Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head with disdain. 'No, Miss Granger.'

'Why not?'

'The last time I spoke with Charles, I was putting him in detention for compromising a fellow student's brewing. I believe it was a salamander that he had thrown into Cecilia Lewis's Shrinking Solution.' Snape poured himself another cup of tea. 'Why in Merlin's name do you think either of us is interested in your little plans?'

_Because sometimes opposites attract_ , Hermione thought to herself. 'Because…' _Because you don't have to like someone's personality to enjoy a much-needed shag._ 'Because I think you will both find this to be mutually beneficial?' She plastered an overly optimistic grin on her face and reached across the table, laying her hand on his arm with a boldness she'd never had before. 'Please, Snape?'

When Snape finally looked up, he snorted at seeing her expression. 'Gods, that's terrifying.'

Draco glanced over at her. 'Stop it, Granger! You'll frighten the children!'

Hermione glared at Draco, but bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she knew she'd regret.

The blond spoke again. 'If you want Severus to meet with a Weasley, you'll need to pay him.'

'She can't afford my price.'

Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and glared at Snape. 'I'm trying to help here.'

'Ooh! Resort to blackmail, Granger,' Draco offered, egging her on in an incredibly unhelpful manner. 'Do you have any dirt on him?'

'Don't be daft.' She frowned, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 'I would never do that to Snape. Who do you think I am?'

Draco grinned. 'Two words: Rita Skeeter.'

Hermione felt herself smiling in response. She couldn't help it. 'She deserved it.'

Snape gazed into her eyes. 'I sense a story here.'

When Hermione felt the subtle nudge into her mental barriers, she snapped her eyes shut and clapped her hands over them. 'Damnit, Snape! Get out of my mind!' She huffed in indignation. 'If you want to know something, you could just try asking. I'm more than happy to tell you what you want to know.'

'Honestly, Severus,' Narcissa said, a hint of chastisement in her haughty voice. 'That's simply unacceptable outside of war. You really should apologize to the girl.'

Snape rolled his eyes.

Hermione brightened at that. 'In lieu of an apology, you can make it up to me by meeting with Charlie tomorrow. Noon sharp!' She threw on her jacket, picked up her bag, and ran out of the room before the man had the chance to object.


	3. Part the Third

Severus Snape was well and truly fucked.

Not literally, of course. It had been ages since a real live woman had wanted him anywhere near her naked body. He wasn't counting, of course, the throngs of women who'd hounded him after Potter's stories of The Faithful and Devoted Severus Snape were released to the public. They'd gobbled up all the lurid tales of his rejection at the hands of one Lily Evans and spat out a brooding hero who needed the right woman to love him into something resembling a human being.

There had been owls carrying letters. There had been packages filled with baked goods and one unfortunate envelope stuffed with what appeared to be a pair of less-than-laundry-fresh knickers. He'd incinerated that one on the spot before retreating to his lab to thoroughly detoxify his skin.

For less than a scintilla of a billionth of a second, he'd considered taking one of those women up on her offer. He was a man, after all, with desires and needs just like any other man.

After considering all he knew of communicable diseases and the fact that he'd more than likely have to talk amicably with the woman in question, he decided it was easier to ignore the attention. In Severus's experience, holding conversations with witches who wanted something never ended well.

The last person he'd let into his bed had been a Muggle woman he'd met at a pub. When he was thirty-four. They'd shared a pint of whisky and an immensely enjoyable tumble in the sheets, and she'd left the next morning before he woke up. No note, which was not a surprise.

She hadn't wanted to keep in touch.

Snape accepted the fact that he was, at his core, completely unfit for any kind of relationship. He knew what he looked like, he knew what he was, and any woman that was delusional enough to accept those things was likely a woman whom he couldn't stand.

  * **CASE IN POINT: SYBIL TRELAWNEY.**



No, he was fucked because the effervescent and ever present Miss Granger had gone and fallen madly and hopelessly in love with him. Granger! What the hell was she even thinking?

It had taken him awhile to notice her infatuation, but once he had spotted it, it was hard to ignore. She was fawning all over him, if you knew where to look.

At first, she was just another person he overlooked when Narcissa dragged him along to Saturday morning brunch at Draco's house. She came with Potter, and as wholly unnatural as it was, given their past animosities, Potter came with Draco.

Now _that_ had been an interesting development.

In between his attempts to ignore Potter and Draco making googly eyes at one another, Granger had been seducing him. She slipped him her newspaper every Saturday, flaunting the damned thing, leaving it open to the crossword puzzles that she must have known he liked. Forcing a connection.

He hadn't caught it for the act of deviance it was, but looking back, the crossword puzzles were her first tactic. It was a subtle move. He hadn't expected that from a Gryffindor, but she was slyer than he had given her credit for.

And the clothing. Unlike Narcissa, who always looked like she had stepped out of a fashion magazine for women who go yachting on the weekends, Hermione wore the uniform of the suburban middle class. Fitted skirts that made him notice her arse, jumpers that clung to what Draco rightfully described as a pair of glorious tits. She was always modestly covered, so nobody could outright accuse her of trying to entrap him, but any woman with a body like hers surely knew how to wield it like a weapon.

Then there was the incessant touching. She'd laid her hand on his arm once, and she let her fingers brush against his when she passed plates of scones around the table. That had happened on four separate occasions, if his memory served. And his memory always served.

The final straw was her interference with his business ventures. It was like she could read his bloody mind. She'd dragged Second Weasley out of Romania, bringing the ideal person to supply some of the rarer ingredients he needed for his mail-order potions shop.

How had she known exactly what he needed? Snape was baffled.

Snapothecary had been running in the red for months, and half the reason was his inability to track down some new sources for Eastern dittany, dried motherwort, and other odds and ends. Five minutes into a stilted conversation with Weasley, and Severus had learned that the man had easy access to every ingredient he needed in the Carpathian mountains. Ten minutes later, and they'd worked out an profit-sharing agreement that allowed them both to benefit.

Soon Severus was back in his attic laboratory, on track to produce nearly ten times what he had been putting out before. At this rate, he'd accepted more purchase orders than he'd been able to fill in weeks. If he had been running this kind of traffic before the post-Voldemort tariffs had gone into place, he would have been set to retire as an obscenely wealthy man in four or five years.

As it was, he was still going to rake in the Galleons with Weasley as a supplier.

Yes, the apothecary had finally started to make him a tidy sum, and it was all thanks to the machinations of Hermione fucking Granger. He owed her for this, and he was certain that she knew it.

Just when he thought she could stoop no lower, she pulled the dirtiest trick of them all.

* * *

'The Minister?' Snape asked, shocked by the woman's audacity. 'Shacklebolt is expecting me on Monday?'

'Yes,' she repeated, grabbing his arm and holding him in place. She had arrived at Grimmauld Place just moments before him, and now they were tidying up from the Floo before heading into the dining room. Hermione reached up to brush something off his collar.

 _Again, with the presumptuous touching_ , he thought. It was all he could do not to flinch away from her fingers, dainty little digits inching closer and closer to his scarred throat. He had half a mind to let her see his neck in all its hideous glory. That would quell any romantic interest she had in him. Kill it dead, like it would with any other woman. Of course, if he wanted to take that route, he would have to put himself through the humiliation of exposing his ugliness to this vibrant young thing. Snape had no desire to watch any woman recoil from his appearance, even Granger, so he kept his shirt buttoned all the way to the very top.

'…and Kingsley will be in his office, waiting for you right after work,' she said.

A few weeks had passed since his lunch meeting with the Weasley. She'd lured him into a false sense of security, making him think she'd forgotten about him. Then she'd sprung the bloody minister on him.

'..will it?'

 _Damnit_ , he thought. She'd been yammering on about something and he'd been distracted.

'He said he'd be interested in drinks,' she continued. 'Does that suit you?'

Severus scowled. Did it matter? She'd boss him into it, and for some reason as of yet unknown to him, he'd let her. 'Fine. I promise to stay no more than thirty minutes.'

Hermione positively beamed at him, her face lit up by happiness with a look he hadn't seen from a woman… ever.

Perhaps, he rationalized, that was ultimately why he acquiesced in the face of her involvement in his life. She seemed to like his company. He'd know if she were faking it for some reason or other, because she was a shit liar. He found it confusing, but he let it go for now. She'd fall in love with some other simpleton in a week or two, revive _their_ business, and he'd be forgotten again.

The only other woman he'd ever let do anything for him was Narcissa, but there were extenuating circumstances in that case. She felt obligated to him for all he'd done for her son during the war. Snape knew all too well how wretched it was to live indebted to anyone, so he let her work off her penance by doing whatever she felt would pay off her familial debts. How the hell taking him to her tailor constituted retribution was beyond him, but he now had a posh closet that continually refilled itself, and he never had to think about what to wear. That suited him just fine.

'Thirty minutes is plenty!' she exclaimed hurriedly. 'If you hit it off and change your mind, you can always stay longer.' She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before running ahead of him to the staircase.

 _Fuck me_ , he thought.

* * *

Two days later, Severus found himself in the reception room outside Shacklebolt's office.

The minister's secretary, an overly muscled young man with perfect teeth, was too young for Severus to have ever had in the classroom. The boy couldn't have been more than one or two years out of Hogwarts. He gestured towards Severus's robes, silently offering to take them.

When Snape clutched them closer, the beautiful young man shrugged and buzzed an intercom to the back room. 'Mister Snape to see you, Minister.'

Severus rolled his eyes. Even the boy's voice was musical, all dulcet tones or some such shite.

Then he heard the familiar voice promptly reply, 'Send him in, Christopher.'

The man was waiting for him, just as Granger had said. Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the people he used to report to after Dumbledore's suicidal reconnaissance missions into the bowels of the Dark Lord's world. He'd cleaned up well in his public life, and he wore his power more lightly than either of Severus's masters ever had.

The office was less showy than he'd expected it to be.

Shacklebolt stood as Severus entered, walking out from around his desk. He shook Severus's hand and clapped him on the shoulder, raised an eyebrow, and said, 'So Granger had your number, too?'

Severus found, to his surprise, that he could begrudgingly give Kingsley his respect. The man could call a spade a spade. Did Granger have his number? She knew enough to read through the lines to see what the real problems were with his apothecary, and she was forcing him into accepting her assistance. 'Miss Granger is living proof that enough research will occasionally reach accurate results.'

Shacklebolt nodded, then led Severus over to a brass cart beside one of the tall windows. After pouring himself two fingers of whisky over ice, he looked to Severus, tapping the tops of two different bottles. 'Your choice: Ogden's or Laphroaig?'

'Laphroaig.'

'Granger seemed to be under the impression that we needed to see each other again after all these years,' Shacklebolt stated simply. He looked at Severus with a look of genuine confusion and handed the man the second glass he'd just poured. 'Do you know why?'

Severus cocked an eyebrow at Shacklebolt. 'Can any man speculate on the internal reasoning of Hermione Granger?' When the man merely shrugged in response, Severus let loose the tirade that had been threatening to erupt for days. 'The woman is a meddlesome harpy, sticking her bushy head where it doesn't belong!'

Shacklebolt laughed. 'That sounds about right.'

'I didn't ask for any of this,' Severus spat, again controlling his burgeoning frustration with the witch.

'What's she done to you now?'

Severus told him everything. If anyone could understand the walking, talking hindrance that was Granger, surely it would be the man who worked with her every day. He told Shacklebolt about the way she'd listened to his business complaints and cajoled Weasley into seeing him, which led to tremendous financial successes for all involved.

They'd been interrupted once or twice by Kingsley's assistant. Severus eyed the boy with suspicion. There was something in the protective way he looked at Kingsley, the way he held himself aloof when he was speaking directly to Severus. The minister was sleeping with the young man.

No matter. Snape continued to rail on against Granger and her manipulative ways.

Shacklebolt seemed to agree with Severus on Granger's overbearing nature, but he tried to console him by arguing that Granger was a good woman to have on your side.

Grumbling about her was going nowhere, and Kingsley managed to get Severus to concede that his apothecary was now flourishing. The conversation about small businesses prompted the minister to reevaluate the state of tariffs in the current political climate. After the better part of an hour, Shacklebolt had drafted legislation to eliminate all the taxes that had been levied after the fall of Voldemort.

Severus was going to be very, very, _very_ rich.

* * *

He'd had enough. Honestly, he didn't even know where she would turn her attentions next, but he couldn't stand the feeling that his life was being controlled by a slip of a woman who couldn't even cook.

Instead of returning to his home in York, Severus dropped by Draco and Potter's place to badger Hermione's address out of the blond man. He witnessed unspeakable atrocities inside Number 12, Grimmauld Place, before securing the necessary information and fleeing.

A few moments later, he arrived on her doorstep of her little cottage, located on the outskirts of a small village in Hampshire. It had a thatched fucking roof with wisteria growing over the door, and it was stereotypically quaint and charming as though it were a postcard from the 1920's rather than an actual abode. The lights were on and the sound of a string quartet, obviously a recording, played in the background. He pounded on the door repeatedly.

He waited, listening. The music stopped and he heard her shuffling about indoors. Next came a quiet thud and some colourful profanity, and finally, she opened the door.

'You!' he spat, his words an accusation. He poked her sternum with a long finger. 'I am through with your interfering ways and your deep-seated need to control everything around you. You—'

'Snape!' she cried, interrupting him. She poked her nosey head out, looking around outside to make sure none of her neighbours saw him. When she realised that the coast was clear, she took a step back, beckoning him inside. 'Come in, please.'

He stepped over the threshold into her hallway, and she closed the door behind him.

'How do you know where I live?' She had draped herself in a faded, fuzzy purple robe of some sort that stopped just above her knees, and her fingers were nervously tugging on its belt. Her feet were clad in ratty mismatched socks.

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'Granger, what do you think spying entails? I wasn't braiding the Dark Lord's hair into pigtails during the war.'

She laughed aloud at this. He was deeply disturbed to discover that he found her smile charming. 'Not that I'm complaining,' she said, 'but you could have owled me for my address. Then you could have Apparated or come by Floo. No need to knock.'

He narrowed his eyes, scowling at her.

'How did you get the address?' she asked, her voice hesitant.

'Draco.' He grimaced, remembering the specifics. 'If there's anyplace one needs to knock, it's there. I came in through the Floo, and neither he nor Potter were anywhere to be found. Then I heard a disturbance downstairs, so I went to check in the kitchen.' He rubbed at his eyes as if trying to erase the vision altogether.

'Again with the kitchen?' she muttered under her breath. Hermione led him to a sofa in her sitting room, gesturing at the furniture and prompting him to take a seat. 'They need to find a new location.'

'They need to lock their Floo,' Snape snapped, 'and I need to practice self-Obliviation.'

She headed into her own kitchen, calling out, ''Just give me a minute! Please make yourself at home.'

 _Make yourself at home_. The witch wanted him to think of her home as his home. Snape shook his head. How had he gotten himself into this mess?

He should have ignored her completely when he still had the chance, but no, he'd indulged her whims. Now she felt some strange sense of ownership over his life as though he were Potter or Weasley or the ancient scraggly feline that was curled up on a woolen rug in front of the crackling fire.

While he was waiting for the woman to return, he examined his surroundings. The room's walls were lined with bookshelves holding an impressive collection. A quick perusal of the shelves, and he saw that she'd implemented the Hogwarts library system to catalog her collection, much like he had in his own home. There was a desk built into the wall and a half-dead pot plant on the fireplace hearth. It was much humbler than Malfoy Manor or even Grimmauld Place, but warmer and homier than his house would ever be.

She returned with a tray heavy laden with tea things—an oversized teapot of what smelled like Earl Grey, a pair of china cups, containers of milk and honey, and a teaspoon for stirring. She'd even included a plate of ginger biscuits.

His favourites.

Rather than soothe him, the fact that she nailed his preferences reinvigorated his ire.

'No more of this,' he said. He accepted the tea she'd mothered for him, but he did it with unwillingness in his heart and a sneer on his lips. 'You need to cease and desist, woman.'

She looked up, curious, with those big brown eyes of hers. 'How did Kingsley look tonight?'

'You worked with him all day,' Severus said. His lips were pursed, his face drawn tight. 'You know what he looks like. He looks like the bloody minister.'

She frowned. 'What happened tonight?'

Severus dunked a biscuit in his cup a tad forcefully, tea spilling over lip into the saucer. 'He repealed the Voldemort Tariffs is what happened!'

Hermione shook her head. 'You… you spent an hour with him over drinks and that's all that happened?'

'All? All?' he sputtered. He took a second ginger biscuit, gripping it in his fist. 'That was plenty. I stand to make an additional thousand Galleons a month as a result.'

She clapped her hands together. 'That's wonderful!' A beat passed. She looked at him then, really looked, and her face fell. 'What's wrong? Did Kingsley do or say anything else?'

'Anything else?' Snape thought for a moment. 'I had to watch him pussyfooting around with his secretary. It wasn't as bad as Draco and Potter, but he—'

'Christopher?' she asked, all astonishment. 'I didn't… I didn't know.'

A wave of sorrow swept over her and her chest fell, which confused Severus to no end. What did he care if Shacklebolt was riding his assistant below the crupper? Let the man enjoy his life.

She stood up then, traipsed over to an overly large volume on her shelf, and pulled it out. Behind the book was a bottle of rum. She carried it back to the sofa, poured a healthy splash into each of their mostly empty cups, and dumped the rest directly into the teapot.

Next, Hermione climbed back onto the couch, pulling her legs up underneath her. Raising her teacup, she looked at him expectantly. When he didn't move, she pointedly looked at the teacup in his right hand. 'Raise your glass,' she commanded.

He did, mostly out of befuddlement.

'To you, Severus,' she said. She downed her teacup of rum in one.

He did the same.

She mothered out another cup of her hard tea for both of them, and raised hers again. 'May you find everything you want in this life, Severus.' Too hot to drink quickly, she hailed him and took a sip of the boozy concoction.

'Granger,' he said, saluting her in return. Her brew was potent and delicious.

He helped himself to another three cups before he truly let his guard down.

At that point, she'd pressed her warm little body up against his. She was affectionate when she was gattered.

He should have known better than to drink with a woman whose amorous aspirations he'd intended to squash, but somehow, he found himself propped up on her sofa with a sweet-smelling witch tucked into his side.

She petted his knee while she told him again and again how she was sorry for the mistakes she'd made by putting him together with Charlie and Kingsley, and he was tempted to forgive her. Why not forgive a witch who knew the error of her pushy ways, who told him she cared for him, who was going to make him a millionaire, and who rubbed his leg just so? He could be _magnaminous… magnamoonimouse… magnminious…_

He could be nice.

He was tired and emotional from all the 'tea,' so he also allowed her to tug him into a supine position, his head nestled on her lap. When she ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, he resisted the temptation to moan aloud in pleasure. He didn't know what was worse: that this woman was mooning over him, or the fact that he was starting to like it.


	4. Part the Fourth

It all started when Severus dropped by after his disastrous date with Kingsley. He'd come by to holler at her, and she learned that she'd set him up with a man who wasn't actually single. She felt terrible about her mistake, but then the evening had taken a startling turn for the better once she doctored the tea.

The second time he showed up on her doorstep was early the very next morning. He returned carrying a grocery bag filled with the ingredients to whip up omelets (or Muggle Sobering Potions, as he called them). They whispered and grunted their way through breakfast, slogging down orange juice and coffee and water with a side of paracetamol from Hermione's cabinet.

Before they left for work, Hermione invited Severus to return for dinner later that week under better circumstances. 'All our acquaintances are in relationships, and you and I are both single,' she'd argued. 'We should make the most of it, don't you think?'

His eyebrows had shot up to his hairline—clearly, he hadn't expected her to extend the olive branch of friendship to him—and he mumbled out his acquiescence before retreating.

That Friday, Hermione's nerves were already shot by the time she telephoned the restaurant to place her dinner order. It had been a stressful day at the ministry, and she was a little on edge at the prospect of befriending Severus Snape.

If his behaviour at Harry and Draco's brunches was any indication, Snape seemed to have mellowed since the war. Oh, he ignored them most of the time, but he was never actually rude. Hermione assumed that anyone would relax a little once the constant threat of death was eliminated from their daily routine. Since he wasn't teaching the little darlings at Hogwarts, his regular contact with ineptitude was also kept at a minimum. That had to do something to improve his surly temperament.

Still, Hermione was unsure exactly what to expect from the man. What would they talk about? She didn't know if he'd be interested in her work at the Ministry. Outside of his own business, she had no idea how he spent his time.

She was running around her cottage, straightening cushions on the sofa and wiping dust off the side tables when she heard his knock.

Flinging wide the door, Hermione stared at what was on her stoop.

Flowers. He brought a bouquet of ranunculus and peonies for her. Actual vegetation, cut and arranged and wrapped in cellophane. Hermione wasn't sure if it was a testimony to the thoughtlessness of the men she usually dated or the attentiveness Severus brought to everything he touched, but it was the first time a man had ever brought her a bouquet.

She cherished it.

Looking up into the dark eyes of the man before her, Hermione's heart felt like it was about to burst from happiness. He was going to make this easy on them both. They could pull off a congenial friendship. 'Thank you, Severus! This is the best surprise.' She stretched up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. _Soft and warm_ , she thought. _Underneath it all, Severus Snape is soft and warm._

He narrowed his eyes, assessing her in all his grumpy glory. 'It's merely a tit-for-tat exchange for dinner, Granger. Save the praise for someone who rescues kittens from trees.'

She paused. Perhaps the old curmudgeonly Snape was still in there after all. That was all for the best, really, since she was fairly certain the world would collapse in on itself if Severus Snape had become saccharine in his middling years.

He pushed passed her, entering her home.

Hermione closed the door. 'May I take your coat?' she asked, holding out her arms to him.

Snape slipped off the woolen overcoat, revealing a dark grey linen shirt and black trousers. As she placed it on a coat rack near the door, he lingered in the hallway for some instruction as to what to do next.

Now that he was sober and no longer yelling at her for trying to make him date an unavailable man, he seemed oddly vulnerable in her home. In the light of day, Severus was unsure of himself and what he was doing there.

Hermione knew she needed to act now before things got too awkward. She thought up a task for him to do to keep him occupied and distracted from thinking too much about how peculiar it was for him to be in her house.

'Could you please put these in water?' She handed him an empty vase and pointed him to the sink.

Snape headed off to the kitchen while she enjoyed the view of him walking away, following after him to her hutch to pull down her china plates and flatware.

Meanwhile, the doorbell rang with her order of Vietnamese takeout. Hermione grabbed her purse and went to the door to greet the deliveryman. There she traded a handful of bills for a brown paper bag that she dutifully carried to her dining room table.

She never had more than two or three people over at a time these days—lately, only Harry and Draco, or sometimes Harry and Ronald, if the latter happened to be around. More frequently, she used it as a second desk, spreading all her work files across it as she sorted through a new piece of legislation.

When she set the fresh spring rolls and the plastic containers of pho on the table, she noticed the haphazardly arranged flowers set in the center. It was like he'd just dropped them into the water without moving them around to make it look a bit more polished. _How strange_ , she thought. Draco would have spent the time to find the right place for every blossom and every leaf. Snape didn't even apologize for his lack of floral arranging skills, like Harry would have done in his place.

Instead, he looked askance at the plastic containers she was unloading. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with sarcasm. 'I hope you didn't strain yourself while you were thoughtfully preparing this bounty.'

'I _was_ being thoughtful,' Hermione retorted. She pried the lids off, pouring the hot soup into their bowls. 'I like you and want to keep you among the living. That means no eating anything from my oven or stovetop.'

'You're a veritable treasure trove of surprises.' He sighed, pulling out his chair and dropping into it with grace. 'I see now that I should have done the cooking.'

A slow smile overtook her features. 'You cook?' She passed a napkin to Snape, one of considerably simpler fabric than the ones at Grimmauld Place, and she placed hers in her own lap, smoothing it down out of nervous energy. 'Why haven't you ever cooked at Harry and Draco's place?' she asked. 'Or brought over something you made?'

'They never asked,' he said simply. 'Haven't you learned yet? Draco is fundamentally incapable of asking for anything. He merely takes what he wants and apologizes later if he's been caught.'

Hermione was curious. It was astonishing, really, just how little she knew of Snape. How close was he to the Malfoy family?

Also, how much did cook? Did he bake as well? She wanted to craft a mental image of the man in his kitchen, toiling away on a batch of biscuits or stuffing a roast. 'Have you always liked to cook?' she asked.

He wielded his chopsticks with precision as he picked up one of the spring rolls. 'There was no need while I was at Hogwarts. I picked it up out of necessity after… ' He stopped midsentence, his thoughts taking him elsewhere. He shifted in his seat. After a long pause, he repeated his final word quietly. 'After.'

Hermione nodded in understanding. There were plenty of afters in her own life: after she discovered that she was a witch, after she was kissed for the first time, after she was tortured. After she survived a war.

The conversation started and stopped multiple times as the two avoided broaching topics that might lead them into trouble. They chatted about political theory after he inquired about her role in the ministry, about travelling, about the books they were reading. There was no mention of Voldemort or of Snape's role as her professor.

When the dinner itself was nearing its end, Hermione put on the kettle for an evening cuppa. She and Snape split a pot of herbal mint, perched on her sofa as they watched the fire wind down. At that point, they weren't really saying much of anything anymore, but just enjoying one another's company in peace and quiet.

Before he left, there had been a moment where she knew he was trying to figure out the protocols of goodbyes. He was standing next to her Floo, since she had insisted that he leave her house directly rather than more of this front door business. He had a good six or seven inches on her, and when they were this close together, she could feel the heat emanating from his body and smell the mint on his breath. He looked down at her, and she could have sworn that his gaze had dropped to her lips—he must have been waiting for her to say something first.

Suddenly, she remembered his overcoat. She ran back to the hall, grabbed it off the rack, and returned to him, pushing the heavy thing into his arms.

He put the thing on, straightened up stiffly, said his goodbye, and spun away home.

That was that.

* * *

All in all, Hermione enjoyed herself more than she had in ages. After growing up surrounded by her housemates and the Weasley family, she had adjusted to a largely solitary life over the last decade. She lived alone, worked in an office by herself, and had a difficult time making new friends now that she was, for better or worse, one of the most famous witches in England.

Sometimes she and Neville got together to catch up, but he was busy with Hannah and their young daughter. Ron was always out of the country on assignment with the Aurors; early on, he'd decided to separate himself from Harry in order to figure out who he was without him, and the distance had served their friendship well. Ginny had taken up with Blaise Zabini, Luna was tracking imaginary creatures in South America, and she could only handle George in small doses.

She loved Harry and Draco, she really did, but life as a third wheel was something she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. (Although given that her worst enemy was arguably Voldemort, Hermione dementedly considered the possibility of the Dark Lord's feeling left out when Bellatrix and whichever LeStrange brother she'd married were acting frisky. Ha! If anyone deserved it, it was him.) Third wheeldom was ever so much more complicated when the public status of the couple was nonexistent. Hermione was never sure if she was supposed to be friendly with Draco at Ministry parties or if it would be better for her to ignore him completely.

Snape, on the other hand, held a peculiar position in her life. He was familiar, and yet unknown. He was challenging, intriguing. He apparently excelled at absolutely everything, and although she'd failed to help him romantically, he was still willing to test the waters of friendship with her.

Hermione wanted to know more.

She owled him another invitation for dinner.

Over the next few weeks, Hermione saw more and more of Severus. That turned into dinner together three or four days a week. It was always at her place, but that suited her just fine. Going out in wizarding London drew far more attention than she was comfortable with, and Severus was a nettlesome fellow about his privacy. He never asked her to join him at his house, although she now knew that he lived in the north somewhere from all the comments he dropped.

Hermione and Severus explored the world of Hampshire takeout, arguing all the while about anything and everything under the sun. She loved Tolstoy; he preferred Dostoyevsky. She would order Indian everyday if she could; he brought fresh vegetables and serviceable cuts of meat to cook for them. She viewed the Ministry of Magic with a mixture of exasperation and hope, while he constantly threatened to wipe out the entire lot of them with a well-placed poison in the drinking water. (She thought he was joking about that last one, while he knew otherwise.)

They kept their growing association from the people who knew them best. It wasn't consciously done; if Harry asked, she would have mentioned it. Hermione tried a little harder to draw Severus into conversation on Saturday mornings, but the man never bit. When they were surrounded by other people, he was more sullen and withdrawn with her now than before they had started spending time together.

It baffled Hermione, but everything between them was still tentatively forming, and she didn't want to risk pushing him away. She found that she had a better idea now of when she could ask him personal questions and when she needed to give him his space. For now, Severus was her secret.

It was just that Hermione didn't like secrets.

* * *

The first time he openly mocked her was when she suggested a pride parade in order to bring positive light to homosexuality in the wizarding world.

'That's a wonderful idea,' he drawled. He was smashing garlic to add to the onions he had caramelizing on the stove. It smelled divine. 'Truly, truly inspired.'

'What could possibly go wrong with a parade?' she asked, her defensive nature emerging.

'Have you ever seen footage of one of those parades?' He snorted, moving on from the garlic to slicing some red peppers. 'Half-naked men painted in lurid colours openly displaying their sexual inclinations? Yes, that will do wonders for your movement, Hermione. The Molly Weasleys of the world will clap their hands in delight and suddenly embrace Potter and his lover.'

He had a point, but Hermione didn't want to drop the issue. 'Maybe ours can be a bit more subdued.'

'Ours?' he asked, a note of incredulity in his voice. 'Kindly do not include me in this, woman. Who do you think you will rope into your idiotic plan?'

'I was hoping that Harry—'

'Potter won't want the publicity,' Snape said, interrupting her. 'You should know that. Even Draco is sensitive to that. How are you this oblivious?'

Hermione felt her lower lip trembling, hating him for being right and hating herself for feeling upset. She turned away from him and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jumper, hoping he would be distracted by what was sizzling in the sauté pan.

No such luck. He looked up at the sound of her sniffle, cursing under his breath as he set the wooden spoon on the counter and crossed the room to her. 'And now I am the monster, aren't I?' he asked, his hands gripping her arms loosely.

She smacked his chest and pulled herself together. 'Fine! No parade.'

Severus took a step back.

Hermione began pacing back and forth down the side of her kitchen wall. 'This is bigger than just Harry and Draco!' she insisted. 'If Dumbledore hadn't been ashamed of his—'

'That will not help you here,' Snape interjected. 'Dumbledore's sexuality will only hurt your cause. '

'People loved Dumbledore,' Hermione insisted.

'People loved him who failed to learn the full truth about Grindelwald,' Snape said, amending her statement. 'Imagine the reaction if, say, Churchill had been carrying on a love affair with Hitler.' He waited a beat, making sure she was following him down this rabbit hole. When she nodded, he continued. 'Now imagine that the world found out that the Second World War could have been resolved by 1941 if only Churchill hadn't indulged his lover and refused to assassinate him when given the chance.'

Hermione sighed. Severus was right again.

She spoke up on behalf of her friend. 'It isn't right that Harry and Draco can't be together. What if they want children someday? Harry would be a loving, caring father. He should have that opportunity.' She shook her head. 'This is about making coming out better for every man'—at this word, she looked into Severus's eyes meaningfully, willing him to understand her acceptance of _his_ sexuality, which he never talked about—'and every woman.'

He was silent. Perhaps she had pushed him too far.

Drawing on the surge of energy that accompanied her impassioned speech, she reached out, placing her hand on his forearm. She leaned up towards Severus and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 'Nobody should feel ashamed about who they really are.'

Amazingly enough, he was growing more and more physically affectionate with her when they were alone. He was—dare she say it—cuddly, much like Draco and Harry were. Maybe all gay men were snugglers with their female friends, since there wasn't an attraction to get in the way and muck things up. If the gay men in her life were any indication, it seemed like a universal principle.

After eating, Severus liked to lay claim to the sofa in her cottage, propping his feet up on the coffee table as he read. She'd cozy up beside him, grab a book, and enjoy his steady presence. Her traitor of a cat preferred Severus, and typically found his way to the man's lap at some point in the evening.

Hermione tried not to think about how divine Severus smelled.

She tried not to dwell on how well they complemented each other.

On more than one occasion, Hermione found herself playing a self-flagellating game of What If? after spending an evening with Severus. She ran through the questions in her mind. What if Severus weren't gay? What if he could learn to care for her, even love her? What if she never had to go through the horrors of dating ever again, since she had already found a man who suited her?

She'd stopped herself cold on that last one, shaking it off as best as she could. It was true, though—Severus was her match in ways that Harry, her dearest and oldest friend, simply wasn't.

And he was completely off limits.

After thumbing through _Homosexuality: A History_ , she acquired a whole new battery of terms and lenses through which she could examine the men in her life.

Charlie was a bear, certainly. All red hair and muscles and wildness. What a shame that he and Severus never clicked romantically, but Hermione consoled herself that they'd both been all right with that. Charlie had actually owled her a box of Romanian sweets with a thank you note for connecting him with Snape again. In the note, he mentioned that he'd have big news to share soon thanks to his newfound fortune.

Draco was her Sassy Gay Friend.

Kingsley? Sort of a male cougar. After Severus had relayed his experience at the Ministry, Hermione watched her boss at work with his handsome assistant. He was playing the field a tad young, but they seemed like they were keeping things light. Hermione mentally referred to the boy as Ganymede.

She considered the myriad archetypes she could use for Harry, but ended chucking them all. Harry was her brother, and that was that, even if she saw a little less of him now that Draco had taken up residence at Grimmauld.

Severus was her… what, exactly? It had been almost two months since they'd started spending their evenings together. She tried to put a word on it, but nothing seemed to fit. She still couldn't imagine the man copping to their friendship in public, but he now sought her out, inviting himself over to her house when she hadn't done so earlier. He showed up without even asking these days, and Hermione was pleased to think it was because he knew he was welcome.

* * *

Saturdays were as they had ever been, with Severus working through his crossword puzzle, Draco fussing over Harry's plate, and the Black sisters catching up with one another.

This particularly Saturday, however, Narcissa was buzzing over the upcoming Ministry gala, held annually to memorialize the fallen during the war.

'My dressmaker has shown me three gowns so far,' she complained, 'each more unacceptable than the last.' She rubbed her temple. 'I don't know what I'll do. This is completely unacceptable.'

Draco, clearly upset, dropped a plate of scones before his mother with a loud clatter. 'Yes, mother, the hardships you suffer. How can you bear it?'

The woman narrowed her eyes at her son. 'That is no way to speak to your mother, young man.'

He exploded. 'It's a dress! A pile of fabric and thread!' Draco then turned to Harry, directing his words at his partner. 'It's not like it's a person you're talking about.'

Hermione reached over and patted Draco's hand in sympathy. She never thought that Draco would be the first one to crack and want to take their relationship public, but it seemed like it was finally happening.

Teddy gulped his orange juice. He was reading a comic book and wearing his own mousy brown hair today, looking like his late father in miniature. 'Uncle Harry, why is Uncle Draco mad at you?'

Harry sighed. He kept his eyes on Draco as he answered the young boy. 'Teddy, I think Draco's upset because we can't go to the Memorial together.'

'That's dumb,' the boy answered. 'Why not?'

'Yes, Harry,' Draco repeated. 'Do explain. Why not?'

Hermione could read the anxiety on Harry's face. He had always been terrible at concealing his emotions. He looked around the table at all the people who knew the truth about his life and liked him anyway—well, Hermione conceded, maybe not liked him, in the case of Severus, but who accepted him anyway. 'It would draw attention away from the war,' he said, his words sounding heavy in his mouth.

'But everyone else gets to go with the person they like,' Teddy insisted. 'Nobody minds.'

His face drawn and tired, Harry looked at Draco again. 'Can we talk about it more later?'

Draco nodded his acceptance, and snapped back into his self-assured mode. He turned on Hermione instead. 'How about you, Granger? Are you heading to the Memorial all by your lonesome, per usual? You did say that it'd been three years since your last date.'

'Oh, that's right,' Narcissa said. She thought for a moment, and a genteel smile graced her face as she extended to Hermione what she clearly considered to be a generous offer. 'I could ask around to find a man to accompany you, dear. You wouldn't want to show up alone again, would you? Not at your age.'

Hermione gave a dismissive shrug. She didn't care for the frequent reminders from all the maternal types in her life—Narcissa, Molly, and even her own mother—that she needed to find a man. Of course, she didn't actually have a date to the event, and she knew that Narcissa _knew_ that.

'Miss Granger will be accompanying me.'

Hermione glanced down the table to make sure she had heard correctly. Had Severus just spared her? She caught his eye and smiled. The corner of his lip turned up, a sly, private acknowledgment before he returned to his crossword puzzle.

'Really?' Narcissa asked.

Harry looked startled, but wisely bit his tongue. Draco's mouth was hanging open, Teddy had gone back to his comic book, and Andromeda was simply grinning. Their shock was palpable, but understandable. None of them knew that Severus and Hermione had become friends, after a sort.

'Yes,' Hermione insisted. Nobody needed to know that she and Severus hadn't been planning this for weeks. She didn't want anybody's pity. Besides, Narcissa had been the one to confirm Snape's sexuality; she surely knew that Snape was only bringing Hermione as a friend. 'Severus and I will be going together.'

She smiled to herself. It may have been a bit unorthodox to take your gay friend to a gala, but Hermione was oddly pleased that he had selected her. He was claiming her friendship in the most public way possible.

If it meant that Hermione had to spend an evening wrapped in Severus's embrace, well, that was just an added bonus.


	5. Part the Fifth

Two weeks later, Hermione found herself sitting at home, dressed to the nines and waiting for Severus to pick her up.

They hadn't actually made any specific plans—or even talked about going to the Memorial Gala at all—but Hermione gussied herself up on the assumption that he was going to follow through on his words. Severus Snape was a man of his words to a painful degree, so she wasn't risking much.

Yet ten minutes before the gala was set to begin, and she still hadn't heard from the man.

She checked her makeup in the mirror for the umpteenth time, adjusting her breasts in the low-cut blue number Draco had shipped over to her earlier in the week. They were practically falling out, but one properly placed charm kept her you-know-whats securely in place.

The anticipation of an evening with Severus had her on edge. She hadn't quite felt like this since she was fifteen and waiting for Viktor Krum to pick her up for the Yule Ball. Of course, it wasn't a fair comparison, but she couldn't get it out of her mind. Maybe her inappropriate attraction to Severus was a vestige of her first crush on the Bulgarian seeker?

Watching the hands on the clock didn't make them go any faster. With two minutes to go, Hermione heard the clatter of a man arriving. Severus launched himself across the room to her and grabbed her by the waist. Without a word, he swept her up in his arms, Flooing the two of them directly to the Ministry.

Was something wrong with her lungs? Hermione felt a little light-headed and woozy, so she relaxed into his warmth and instantly felt at peace with the world.

Once the dust settled and he released her, Hermione looked up at the man beside her. Severus cleaned up well, wearing traditional formal attire and tying his hair back at the nape of his neck. 'Hello to you, too,' she whispered. It was funny, she thought, just how handsome she found him to be.

'Let's get this over with,' he replied, tugging at the high collar of his dress robes. His eyes dropped to her breasts, and Hermione saw his eyes brighten in appreciation. He had quite obviously changed his mind about her breasts. _Honestly_ , Hermione thought, _did all gay men adore a pair of tits_? She had thought that Draco was the exception, but maybe it was a rule.

Hermione looked around the room. The large atrium in the Ministry had been transformed, a raised dais with a podium at one end of the room and a string orchestra at the other.

Severus took her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm. He led her through the throng, dozens of stares following them as the crowd parted.

Already, Hermione noticed how differently she was being treated with Snape by her side. If this were any other Ministry do, Hermione would already have been swarmed by people she barely knew, all clamoring for a piece of her. The press would have asked for exclusive interviews, politicians would have wanted her advice, and her old schoolmates Lavender and Parvati would have waved photos of their snotty babies under her nose until she couldn't see straight anymore.

But no, when she was on the arm everyone's favorite social pariah, people left her alone. They ogled her with slack-jawed stares, but they didn't actually approach her. Hermione decided then and there that she was keeping Severus around forever.

When she looked up at him, she saw his stony expression. 'Is everything all right?' she asked, concerned.

'I hate these,' he explained. 'The self-congratulatory vanity of these indolent sloths, the majority of whom ran for cover when the Dark Lord made his presence known. I fail to see why they believe they belong here.'

Hermione empathized with the sentiment. 'My cynical side would tell you that the more cowardly a person's actions in the war, the easier it is to squeeze Galleons out of them in the benefit auction at the end of the evening.'

Severus quirked his eyebrow. 'And what extravagances are tonight's frivolities purchasing?'

Hermione was on the volunteer committee directing the funds. 'Refurbishing a wing of the hospital, mainly.' Something else popped to mind, and she frowned in distaste. 'The Ministry washrooms are also going to be renovated. New paint and fixtures, you know. Nothing but the finest toilets will do.'

'The government takes excellent care of its biggest arses,' he replied.

Now sniggering, Hermione allowed Severus to lead her to the empty tables around the perimeter of the room. She didn't know how to ask him for a dance. Was she supposed to wait for him to ask her, or did the standard rules not apply to them?

A light bulb flashed in the corner, a sign of the ubiquitous photographers hired to document the gala.

Hermione hated the press. She looked at her date. 'How long do you think we need to stay before we can leave?'

'Planning an exit strategy already?' he asked.

 _Not really_ , she thought. But he was uncomfortable, and she wanted him to know that she was on his side. If he wanted to leave, she would leave with him.

She looked him square in the eye. 'You aren't?'

He snorted. 'Touché.'

Severus pulled out a chair for her before taking his own seat. Dryly, he waved a hand, gesturing towards the sea of people steadfastly turning their backs on him. 'Naturally, I will stay just long enough to satisfy the demands of my adoring public.'

Was she imagining it? Hermione thought she heard an underlying bitterness in his voice. _She_ adored Severus, and she told him so as bluntly as she thought he could handle. 'I wasn't aware that I was considered the public.'

His eyes widened just a bit at her remark, and he turned his head slowly to face her. 'I was equally unaware of your adoration.'

She smirked. 'Shall I embroider it on a cushion for you?'

He gave her a scathing look before pushing back his chair and standing up again, abruptly. 'I need a drink.'

He stalked off in the direction of the bar.

Hermione found herself smiling, something that happened often when she was with Severus. She was less lonely with someone around, but it was more than simply having another person nearby. She had always felt alone when she was with Ronald because they just didn't quite fit. Ron was a good man, but they didn't line up together. In an odd way, Hermione felt a sort of union of the minds with Severus that she hadn't really had with anyone else before.

Of course, that wasn't a fair comparison, either. She had been dating Ron, and Severus was her friend. Her rather _gay_ friend.

She sighed.

Hermione wondered if she and Severus were both using the other as stand-ins for the romantic partners they lacked. They dined together instead of going out on dates and meeting new people. They picked one another's brains and bickered like an old married couple. Gods, they were even becoming the other's plus one for big social events.

If it weren't for the obvious lack of sex, Hermione would have thought that she'd finally found the perfect man for her. Snape wasn't handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but she'd never really cared for that anyway. Hermione surmised that a beautiful man might make her feel insecure about her own ho-hum appearance. Severus was interesting and intelligent and his body was delicious. He smelled rather herby at all times, and it turned out that he could cook up just about any recipe you placed in front of him.

If only Narcissa was wrong. If Severus were interested in women, Hermione would absolutely pursue him.

She sighed, watching him return with two glasses in hand. He'd brought her a glass of red wine, just as she preferred. After thanking him, she made her decision. As much as she wanted to wrap herself up in him on the dance floor, she couldn't let the two of them wallow in their singleness any longer. She didn't want to keep Severus from finding a real partner in life.

He deserved love.

Scanning the room, Hermione identified a French potions master who she was fairly confident was also gay—a slender man with broad shoulders who she'd met on a few occasions at the ministry named Pierre. He was trim and muscular, with neatly trimmed black hair and a thin moustache. Hoping that she hadn't confused her assumptions about his sexuality with his nationality, she beckoned him over to meet Severus.

They might not hit it off, but Hermione owed it to herself and to Severus to stop relying on their friendship to meet their relational needs. She hastily made the introductions between the two men and left them at the table so they could get to know one another privately.

Accompanied by her trusty wine glass, Hermione meandered over to Harry, who was surrounded by a group of members of the Wizengamot, a panicked look on his face.

'Harry!' she cried, waving over at him. 'It's been ages.' It hadn't been, of course, but nobody needed to know that. She turned to the people around her dear friend, flashed her brightest smile at them all, and said, 'Excuse me, but I need to steal Harry away to catch up. I'm sure you understand.'

They nodded their approval, and Hermione flung her arms around Harry in a hug.

'Bless you,' he said, speaking mainly into her hair. 'I can never say no to them.'

'You look miserable.'

'Thanks?' he replied, more a question than a statement. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick out at jaunty angles.

She slipped her arm around Harry's waist and steered them away from all the people bustling about. 'Draco isn't here yet, you know,' she whispered, just loud enough for only Harry to hear. 'You could sit with him when he arrives. Maybe even dance with him. I know you're worried about this, but you've got to do it sometime.' She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

A flash of light went off.

Hermione whipped around to find a photographer ten feet away, camera pointed at them.

'Young love!' he declared.

Hermione snorted at his stupidity. 'Not hardly.' She drew her wand, summoning the camera from his hands. When it was safely levitating a few feet off the ground, she spoke again. ' _Incendio!_ '

It burst into flames.

Hermione glared at the man. 'I trust I've made my point?'

The man turned and ran.

Hermione placed her hands on Harry's shoulders, staring him squarely in the face. 'You're the Saviour of the Wizarding World. You're the Boy Who Fucking Lived, Harry. If you're not allowed to love who you want, I'm not sure I want to be a part of this world anymore.'

Harry nodded slowly, big watery tears gathering in his eyes. 'Hermione, you're terrifying. I don't think anyone will mess with me out of fear of your retribution.'

She laughed. 'I love you, you know that?'

Over Harry's shoulder, she saw Draco arriving with his mum, Andromeda, and Teddy. She directed Harry's gaze towards them and wound her arm around his. 'Let's go say hello.'

Harry gulped. He and Hermione started to make their way across the room.

He glanced at the table where she'd left Severus and Pierre. 'Er… Is everything okay with Snape?'

'I think so,' Hermione replied. She spied the two men in an argument. 'That is, I _thought_ so. I guess Pierre's not his type, either.'

Harry had a confused look on his face. 'Snape's… type?'

Hermione nodded. 'I tried to set him up with a few others, but I'm not very good at figuring out what Severus is looking for.'

His sheepish grin grew a little wider. 'You're kidding, right?'

Hermione frowned.

A part of her wanted smack the smug grin off Harry's mug. She hated it when he knew something she didn't know, and Harry knew it. He started needling her. 'For one thing, Snape doesn't go for black hair.'

'How would you know this?' Hermione asked.

Harry didn't answer her question. He was reveling in this, dropping hint by hint. 'Snape also likes them without any facial hair.'

'Pierre can shave it.'

Harry's voice kept lilting up at the ends of each sentence as he tried to lead Hermione to guess his secret. 'Snape likes them smart. Er… really smart.'

'The man is a published Potions master!' she cried. 'He represents the French ministry in meetings with Kingsley. He speaks three languages fluently. How much more intelligent can a man get?'

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, thoroughly mussing it. 'Hermione, I don't think you get it. Snape isn't ever going to be interested in that bloke. He's not—'

'Harry!' Teddy cried, interrupting them. He was sporting blue hair today. The boy ran over wearing a set of dress robes his grandmother had bribed him into wearing. They had been newly purchased for the Ministry gala, and yet they were already torn at one wrist, with a strange-looking stain around the hem. He was his mother's son.

'Hold that thought,' Harry said to Hermione.

He turned to Teddy to give him a bear hug, lifting the boy off the ground and swinging him around. Harry set him down again. 'You're getting too tall for this.'

Teddy gave Hermione a hug as well, and he led her by the hand back to where all the others were gathered.

Hermione spied Harry and Draco out of the corner of her eye. Harry stuck out a hand. The blond took it, shaking it stiffly. _Well_ , Hermione thought, _at least it's a start_.

By the time the orchestra had started playing, Harry had asked Draco to dance.

Hermione beamed at her boys, arm in arm as they turned around on the open floor. If she couldn't get her own love life together, she could at least celebrate theirs. She was still frustrated with Harry, but she knew she would wheedle his information out of him in due time. Harry always cracked.

Severus wasn't at the table she had left him at, so she assumed that he and Pierre had worked things out and were off in one of the hidden nooks and crannies in the hallways off the main room.

As a result, Hermione and Teddy had resorted to games of tic-tac-toe to keep busy before the official announcements and speeches would begin.

An old jazz standard started to play, and Hermione grew wistful. Shouldn't she get at least one dance in? She looked around again, and although she couldn't find Severus, she spied Neville by himself.

She went over and asked him to dance. Neville had barely taken her hand when she was yanked out of his grasp.

It was Severus.

'I'm cutting in, Longbottom.' His voice was curt.

The younger man threw up his hands in surrender. 'Another time, Hermione, yeah?'

Snape enfolded her in his arms and swept her off in time to the beat.

'How on earth could you sic that imbecile on me?' he asked, barely keeping his voice down.

Her eyes widened, and she tried to remember to let Severus lead their steps as she spoke. 'I thought you and Pierre might have some things in common.'

'In common? In common?!' he sputtered. 'What on earth could I possibly have in common with that pretentious fop?'

'He's a potions master,' she replied.

'An incompetent one.'

'He's interested in international relations.'

'He tried to physically assault me,' Severus replied. 'The man will regain his full range of motion in roughly three months' time.'

'He's also quite attractive,' Hermione stated.

The music changed to an upbeat number, and the pair stopped, standing in dance hold among an ocean of bouncing couples. Hermione was relieved, because she couldn't argue with Severus and remember steps simultaneously.

'Why would I care about that?' Severus cried.

'I don't know what your type is! You never talk about it!' Hermione whispered her explanations, knowing that they were attracting attention and trying to keep their argument under wraps. 'In lieu of that, I thought I'd be a pal and at least send a good looking man your way.'

He released her arm as though he'd been burned, taking a step back.

'You thought that I would… that he…' Severus spluttered out several half-sentences, thoroughly discombobulating Hermione. 'You think I'm gay?'


	6. Part the Sixth

'I'm not gay!'

A few dozen people turned to stare at Severus. It was understandable, all things considered, since his declaration was shrill, resounding ever more loudly across the marble floors. In the periphery, he spotted Draco dancing in Potter's arms, looking as though his favorite puppy had just been run over by a flying automobile.

'Not that there's anything wrong with that,' Severus added hastily, his eyes directed at the young man.

A horde of nosey parkers were staring now, so Severus pulled Hermione off the dance floor, dragging her down a hallway and leading her into an empty conference room in order to have a little privacy.

He slammed the door behind them and threw up Silencing Charms. _The gods weren't just unkind_ , Severus told himself. _They were degenerate sadists who had led him into his own destruction._ He let his forehead drop against the wood of the door, unwilling to turn around and face her.

A small, soft hand clutched at his.

'Don't,' he hissed, pulling his arm to his chest.

She gave him silence.

A minute passed, and he turned around slowly. Her eyes were open wide and slightly reddened as she fought back tears. Her hair, slightly out of control, and her arms, wrapped protectively around her torso. Apologies and confusion were written across her features, and he knew her well enough now to know that she was biting her tongue as she waited for him to speak.

She was lovely beyond words.

He knew he was falling for her.

He _thought_ he'd been wooing her.

And she thought he was gay.

He paced back and forth along one wall, mute and angry and humiliated.

If only the floor would open up and swallow him whole, taking him from his miserable existence. If only he hadn't spent the last two months entertaining the possibility of her caring for him. If only he could go back to a time when he was still satisfied by his solitude and content with his lot in life.

As far as Severus was concerned, there was just one way to salvage this moment. He had to keep her from ever discovering his puerile dreams of her in his life. It should be simple; she couldn't even conceive of his interest in women, so she surely wouldn't be able to discern his interest in _her_. He turned to face her, his face a cold mask. His voice was scarcely louder than a whisper, but he enunciated each word with cutting precision. 'You have grossly overstepped your boundaries tonight, Miss Granger.'

Tears flowed down her cheeks now, and her perfect breasts rose and fell with each heaving breath. 'I thought… I thought… the opera and the brunching and your clothes…'

'Made you believe I was bent?' he asked. 'A man can listen to a woman sing and still want to fuck her. The wardrobe was all a gift from the Malfoys; I didn't pick out any of it, and you of all people should be used to them dressing up us lesser beings with no fashion sense. Really, though, _congratulations_ on your inability to look beyond clichés, Granger.'

A thousand things were flashing behind her eyes as she uttered out excuses and explanations. 'And Narcissa said… She said that—'

'Narcissa knows about the women I've dated in the past,' Severus stated. 'Hell, she forced most of them on me.'

Hermione frowned. 'But I thought she…' Her voice trailed off. 'I guess I misunderstood her.'

Severus didn't respond.

'Please believe,' she pleaded, 'that I would never have set you up with Pierre, or Kingsley or Charlie, for that matter, had I—'

'Those were dates?' Snape exclaimed, interrupting her. 'I dated the _Minister of Magic_?' His mind tripped over the memories of his conversations with Weasley and Shacklebolt. Had he said or done anything that would further embarrass himself? _Fucking hell_ , Severus thought. _I didn't even know Weasley was gay_.

'Yes?' she said, her voice sounding as though it were a question rather than a statement of fact.

'Does the Minister know that he dated me?'

Looking rattled, she didn't answer.

'Granger, what _exactly_ did you say to Shacklebolt?' he asked, needing to clarify things for his own peace of mind. 'Please tell me you used the word "drinks" rather than the word "date" when you planned this lamentable charade."

She swallowed and nodded furiously. '"Drinks," yes. I just thought, well,' she began, 'it took Harry and Draco so long to get together, and they still haven't figured out everything—obviously, I suppose, although it's better than it used to be, and it seems like they soon might—'

'Feel free to get to the point you're currently circumnavigating.' His patience was waning, but more than that, he knew he could only stand to be exposed like this in front of her for a few moments longer. It was already excruciating, cutting him to his marrow, but he wanted answers before he left to find his solace in the bottom of a bottle in the quiet of his house.

'I wanted you to find love and adoration,' she said, alight with beauty and hope for some imaginary life she'd dreamed up for him. 'You're brilliant, Severus, and you're kind when nobody's watching, and I've seen how loving and affectionate you are with friends like me. I wanted you to be able to build a life with somebody, to have someone to come home to every night.'

He cringed, fully aware of the cruel irony of her statement. If she'd detected the piece of him that behaved lovingly, it was because he loved _her_ , not because he was some humanitarian. He'd been coming home to _her_ for weeks now, and although he was loathe to admit it, he'd started contemplating an endless future of comings home to her.

Not that she knew that.

Or would ever find out.

'Spare me the sodding fairytale, Granger,' he spat out, his weary voice lacking its regular bite. 'Those are for the Potters and Weasleys of the world. They'll never be for me.'

'I don't believe that,' she said. Her voice was gentle, softer than she usually let herself be, and she reached her hand towards his face.

He pulled back. 'You believe a great many things. Need I remind you about your misconceptions about me?' he asked curtly. 'You seem to think you're infallible. Clearly, you can be mistaken.'

With that, he shook his head, turned his back on her, and left.

 _Fuck all_ , Severus thought, beginning to wallow in his own misery. He had returned to his house directly and pulled out a half-empty bottle of cognac, foregoing the glass entirely as he drank in the silence of his shabby house.

He had thought he'd made himself crystal clear, and he'd thought she was in agreement with him on whatever was happening between them. He'd brought her fucking flowers, for god's sake.

Flowers.

He'd been courting the woman's attentions for nearly two goddamned months now.

Once he'd come to terms with the idea that yes, Granger was steadfastly interested in his life for the long haul, and yes, she was a woman rather than a child, he had begun to reevaluate the chit.

There was still a bossiness and a need to control her world, but there was also a fundamental kindness to her that he'd been drawn to. She tended to demonstrate her affection for people by sticking her little button nose into their affairs.

So many people had ignored him for so long, that he found he liked her demanding nature. He showed up at her home when she invited him. He cooked for her when she wanted a demonstration of his éclair-making skills. He complained and grumbled at her while he did it—she needn't think he was simply following her around like a puppy, as he had with Lily—but he did it all because he enjoyed the feeling that someone wanted him for something.

It didn't hurt that she cooed over his talents while sneaking second helpings of his pastries, or that she ran her fingers through his hair when they would read or watch films on her couch. She calmed down in his presence, spoke less, and relaxed in a way that made him think she was getting something out of this relationship as well.

For weeks, he'd be letting himself think of a future with her. He didn't want to push too fast or too hard. Just test the waters, so to speak. Of course, he also had no idea how to pursue a young woman, what with his amorous history consisting of a half dozen one-off dates and a handful of one-night stands.

True, he'd never mauled her physically, or let his hand slip down to graze her body in any untoward fashion, or even kissed her, no matter how many times he caught himself staring at her lips and thinking about it. He thought about it all the time. He was attempting to be the gentleman his mother had never had.

He didn't think she would think he was uninterested in her. Didn't bringing her goddamned flowers declare his intentions?

He never dreamed that she would think he was gay.

* * *

Hermione fretted constantly now that Severus wasn't speaking to her. He refused her owls, sending them back to her with unopened letters. He didn't answer his door when she showed up at it, knocking ad nauseum until she tore the skin on her knuckles.

She got that Severus was angry and embarrassed because she had thought he was gay, but she simply didn't understand why he couldn't laugh at her for missing the obvious and move on. He loved to laugh at her. He also wasn't homophobic; watching his support of Draco and Harry made that clear. Why would he take it as a personal offence that she had made the wrong assumption about his sexuality?

More than anything, Hermione was kicking herself. All of her _What If?_ questions came back to haunt her. What if Severus wasn't gay? Well, it turned out that he was as straight as a wand. She had a considerate, thoughtful, wickedly intelligent man in her home for weeks, and she'd stupidly wasted the opportunity. She wasn't exactly renowned for her skills in seduction, but given half the chance, she thought she could have made her move with Severus.

In the first few weeks after the Memorial Gala, Hermione had taken up a sort of second residence on Harry's couch. Harry's old Quidditch jersey (and when it was unavailable, Draco's, too) became talismans of comfort to the witch as she tried to figure out how to apologise to Severus.

* * *

One evening, Hermione was curled up with a blanket in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place. The book she had been trying to read long forgotten at her side, she was now staring out of the window, trying to understand what was happening in her life.

The patter of shoes and some chatter signaled the arrival of more people in the hall outside the room, but she stayed where she was, wrapped in her own lethargy.

'…and I never told her Severus was gay,' a woman's voice insisted. _Narcissa_ , Hermione thought. 'How could I, when it's so achingly apparent that he isn't? That man is practically dripping with virility.'

Hermione overheard some shuffling about just on the other side of the wall. Now would be the appropriate time to make her presence known, so they would stop talking about her. For some reason, she held her tongue and burrowed a bit deeper into her quilt.

'She was so convinced,' Harry said, his voice quiet. 'When I asked her about it, she said that she only starting setting Snape up on dates when she thought you'd told her to go ahead with it.'

'Honestly, Harry,' the woman scoffed, 'I said he wasn't her type. It's true; he's never been interested in his students. I tried for awhile to match him with Posy Parkinson and the Greengrasses' Belgian cousin, but those were both disasters. For that matter, the only women I know he's ever found for himself have all been Muggles, and that, too, is something that Miss Granger is not.'

'I wish she would have mentioned what she was up to,' Harry said, clearly trusting the confidence of his soon-to-be mother-in-law. 'It was blatantly obvious that Snape was interested in her. I tried to tell her. I didn't realise what she was doing until the night of the Memorial, but by then, it was too late.'

Snape was interested in _her_? That was news to Hermione. She thought he was upset because she'd misunderstood him and butted her nose into his affairs. He was a painfully private man, and he was a proud man, and he was right—she had overstepped.

Could it have been more than that? Was he really interested in her romantically?

Unbidden tears fell from Hermione's eyes as she remembered the bouquet he brought to her home and the shy smile he'd given her as he handed it over. She closed her eyes and let herself drift into her own memories, recalling the way he held her protectively in his arms when they were alone, and how she'd find his eyes on her whenever he thought she wasn't looking.

The way he'd tease her when he disagreed with her.

The way he'd place his arm on the back of her couch so she could sidle up to him more closely.

 _Oh, Merlin_ , she thought. _I've mucked things up for good_. He may have been interested in her once, but that was gone now, thanks to her error. She stifled a sniffle and reached for the tissues, hoping neither Harry nor Narcissa would notice her.

They kept walking.

* * *

Severus's life simplified when Hermione wasn't in it. He had his evenings to himself again, so he used the time to develop a new potion to sell through the apothecary. With all the changes that had happened thanks to Weasley and Shacklebolt, business was even better than his early projections. His stock room was overflowing with materials that Charles sent for his brewing, and Severus still had to decide how to invest the inordinate sums of money he was raking in.

He also had his Saturday mornings back. He'd stopped showing up at Grimmauld Place for Draco and Potter's brunches, and told himself that he didn't miss seeing her or listening to her berate the young men before she'd had her fill of coffee.

Two weeks after the Memorial Gala, Snape received an owl from Draco inviting him one evening after work. Against his better judgment, he went.

The whelp was waiting for him next to the Floo. 'Hermione misses you, you know.'

Severus groaned. _Not Draco, too._ 'Miss Granger is none of my concern.'

Draco smiled and led him down the hallway. 'You don't want to know how she's doing? You might be interested to learn that she's been over here crying her eyes out over you on Harry's shoulder. They have this strange ritual with ice cream and terrible movies, and it takes up the entire room.'

Severus grimaced. 'She'll move on when she's found another project to work on.'

'Would you care to find one for her?' Draco asked. 'For that matter, would you care to be one for her? I'd like my fiancé and my house back.' Since their first dance at the gala, and Potter's rather public proposal at the end of that evening, Draco had taken to using the word 'fiancé' instead of Potter's actual name.

 _Draco's fiancé._ Everything worked out for the boy in the end, which irked Severus beyond belief. It didn't matter how long Draco'd been a self-absorbed little gobshite as a child, or how many poor choices he'd made as a teenager, because the universe somehow dropped everything to give the blond whatever he wanted. An important job? Draco was well placed in the Ministry. Good looks? Wizards and Muggles alike ogled him wherever he went. A loving partner? Somehow, he'd landed the most adored wizard in Britain.

By contrast, Severus had made one mistake. One terrible, fucked up, imbecilic mistake, true, but it had haunted him for the entirety of his adult life.

'You want your fiancé back?' Severus asked. 'That's easy enough. Kick her out. Send her home.'

'Ah, but that won't win me any points with the little woman.' Draco poured himself a glass of wine. Thinking aloud, he amended his statement. 'The little man? Can I call Harry that? Not that he's little, by any stretch of the imagination. He's actually quite—'

Severus whipped out his wand and performed a Silencing Charm on the young man. 'For the love of all that is holy, never finish that sentence in my presence.'

Draco clutched at his throat, trying to find a way around the spell in order to speak.

Ignoring the wild gestures from the blond, Severus walked over towards the buffet, picking up an unopened bottle of the same red Draco'd been drinking. 'Thank you for the wine and your obvious concern about _my_ life.' His voice was hard and bitter as he pressed on. 'She'll leave you alone eventually. Until then, you can put up with her whinging.'

He released the charm as he walked out of the room towards the Floo.

'Wait!' Draco cried, calling after him. 'Please!'

Severus stopped in his tracks. Draco never used that word except as a last resort.

'She's angry with herself,' Draco explained, rubbing the back of neck as he always did when he was being uncharacteristically sincere. 'She's also terribly confused, but she wants to spend time with you.' Draco looked up at Severus and chuckled. 'You certainly played those cards close to your chest. We suspected something was going on, but neither Harry or I knew that you and Granger had gotten so close.'

Severus didn't need to ask who 'we' was referring to. Knowing that he and Granger were subject to the speculation of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy was enough to make him question every choice he'd ever made in life. He stared at the wall, waiting for Draco to get out everything he needed to say.

'Give her another chance,' Draco insisted. 'You won't regret it.'

'I already regret everything about her.'

'Well,' the blond said, prevaricating, 'just learn how to be in the same room with her again.'

'Why?'

A beat passed as Draco fidgeted with the buttons at his shirtsleeves. 'The wedding date is set. We're getting married a month from Saturday.'

Draco took a step towards the dark man. 'You saved me when I didn't deserve it, and you kept me alive through when my own father… Well.' Draco coughed. 'I was hoping you would stand up for me at the ceremony.'

Severus blinked. He was touched by Draco's candor. 'Don't be daft. Of course I will.'

Draco attempted to give the man a hug, but neither was well practiced at the act, so it ended up awkward and stiff.

'I haven't said it before, and I won't say it again, but best wishes on your marriage. You're lucky to have found… You know who. Well…' Severus pried himself from the young man, the bottle of red wine still tucked under one arm. 'I'm still taking the wine.'

Draco nodded. 'You know as well as I do who Harry will ask to be his best man—er, best woman.'

Severus sighed, summoning a second bottle from Draco's collection. It flew through the air swiftly, and when it was within arm's reach, Severus grasped it by its neck and situated it under his other arm. 'Yes. Yes, I do.'

* * *

Hermione didn't know what to do. What she wanted, desperately, was impossible, since there was no way to bring Severus around for tea and ask to start over.

She went on with life as usual, working long hours at the Ministry. The office of the Minister was incredibly busy when the Wizengamot was in session, so Hermione spent ten to twelve hours a day reviewing proposed legislation and transcripts of trials. She noted that Kingsley had hired a second personal assistant to keep up with the work load, a stocky young man with a muscular back. _More power to you_ , Hermione thought. At least one person in the Ministry was getting laid.

In her downtime, she spent a great deal of time trying not to think about what a relationship with Severus would have looked like. What her fervid imagination came up was simultaneously tame and fairly scandalous; her daydreams consisted of either quiet times, talking and reading together on her sofa, or wildly creative sex on every surface in her home. Imaginary Hermione was rather flexible, and Fantasy Severus tasted delicious.

Ron and Harry were both helpful distractions. With the date of Harry's wedding just a week away, the three friends had all taken time off from work to assist with last minute preparations and to celebrate the remainder of Harry's single days.

Thanks to Ron, Hermione was finally catching up on all the gossip of the Weasley family. He was filling in his friends on all his siblings while he helped out by taste testing several different types of cake.

Meanwhile, Harry tried to sort out the placement of guests at tables during the wedding reception and Hermione hand lettered names on heavy cardstock.

'Not this one,' Ron said, setting down the lemon drizzle cake. He raised his fork, picking up a slice of the chocolate and raspberry gateau. 'Where was I? Yeah… Percy and Audrey are pregnant with their second, and Mum blew a gasket last week because Charlie finally married his girl now that he's got that big nest egg saved up.'

Hermione dropped her quill. 'Charlie got married? To a woman?'

Ron looked over at her, befuddlement on his face. 'He's been seeing this bird Irina for months. Just didn't want to tell Mum right away, or she'd start demanding more grandchildren and a big ceremony. They wanted things small.'

'Oh.'

Ron's eyes widened as he caught the meaning behind Hermione's question. 'Charlie's not gay.'

Hermione froze.

'Not that there's anything wrong with that,' Ron hastily added, shooting a glance at Harry.

Hermione dropped her head to her hands. 'I'm really, really bad at this, aren't I?'

Harry dropped all his notecards and pulled her into a hug, rubbing circles soothingly on her back. 'You don't have to get everything right, Hermione. We all make mistakes sometimes. He'll come around. You'll see.'

'I don't think he'll ever forgive me,' she said, muffled by Harry's shirt.

Meanwhile, Ron had moved on to a Victoria sponge cake.

Hermione was looking forward to Harry's wedding with mixed emotions. She wanted to celebrate her friend's marriage with an open heart, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Severus, their friendship, and what she was afraid they had lost.

She was going to see him in six days. How would he look? Would he finally be willing to talk to her?

Knowing it might be futile, she scribbled off another letter to the man. Rather than dwelling on the past, she wrote about the present—what she had been up to, how she missed his company, and all that he meant to her. She sent this letter off by owl, just as she had dozens of letters before.

A few days went by, and she didn't receive a response.

But the letter also wasn't returned.


	7. Part the Seventh

The venue was breathtaking.

Rolling hills, patches of daffodils all in bloom, and old growth forests surrounded the grounds of the Georgian manor home where Draco and Harry were tying the knot. They couldn't have picked a lovelier spring day for their nuptials, Hermione thought. The wedding itself was going to be outdoors, and the reception would be inside the historic home.

Passing the guests who were milling around under the tent outside, Hermione walked into the small room where Harry was revising his vows.

She smiled at the sight.

In one corner was Teddy, bouncing up and down in his seat, his blue hair completely at odds with the formal robes Andromeda had dressed him in.

Ron sat in a formal chair, his feet up on an antique side table. He held Harry's notecards in one hand, checking Harry as he tried to recite the vows from memory.

As for Harry, he was pacing nervously, forgetting every other word of his pre-written vows.

'Just take the cards, mate,' Ron said, handing the stack over to his friend. 'You'll feel better if you've got them on you.'

Hermione went to the tall mirror in the corner to adjust her best woman's dress. Like everything else Draco selected for her to wear, this one was rather lower cut than she was used to. She tested a few spells out on her cleavage to determine which one would most securely keep the strapless number in place.

'Am I crazy?' Harry asked. 'I'm marrying Draco Malfoy.'

'I lived with you for seven years,' Ron said. He poured another glass of the champagne that Draco had left in the room for the three of them to share. 'You leave your socks everywhere and you're worse than I am about washing your Quidditch gear. The real question is whether or not he's crazy for marrying you.'

In the reflection, Hermione could see that Harry had a panicked look on his face.

'Just kidding,' Ron muttered. 'Listen, Harry, even I can see that you two belong together.'

Hermione walked over and kissed Harry on the cheek. 'He adores you, and he'll fight for you for the rest of his life. He also knows that I'll castrate him if he ever hurts you.'

Ron burst out laughing. 'I'm glad your arsenal of spells only included angry birds when we were in sixth year.'

Hermione grinned diabolically. 'Who said I was going to do it magically?'

Harry grimaced. 'Please don't. I'm rather partial to his—'

'Let's go,' Ron said rather loudly, interrupting Harry before he could say another word, 'and get you married.'

* * *

The ceremony went off without a hitch.

Harry hadn't needed the notecards after all. Apparently, he'd been inspired to improvise whilst gazing into Draco's eyes. Draco had kept it together up until that point, and although Hermione knew he'd never admit it, he started tearing up as Harry promised to love him through the ages.

Kingsley presided, lending his gravitas to the occasion.

The music was provided by a string quartet selected by Narcissa. Really, almost all the details had been worked out by the Malfoy matriarch in advance, with a heavy restraint imposed by Andromeda on her sister's tendency towards extravagance.

As for Hermione, she was just glad she could make it through emotionally intact. It was her first time seeing Severus since their disastrous night over a month earlier, and they were unfortunately paired together in the ceremony as the best man and best woman of the two grooms.

He was unavoidable, and he looked so sharp in his dress robes. His hair was bound, revealing his face. His eyes, which could be so expressive, were impassive throughout the proceedings.

When they exited behind Harry and Draco, they walked down the aisle side by side and arm in arm.

It was a heady feeling for Hermione.

They greeted the happy newlyweds briefly before the wedding coordinator pointed them towards the manor and asked them to find their seats before the reception began.

The walk over was uncomfortably silent.

Hermione entered the building with Severus at her side, quickly spotting the ballroom to their left filled with tables for dining. Knowing that they would soon have an audience of wedding attendees, she grasped Severus's hand and led him towards the room she, Ron, and Harry had been in earlier. It was empty now, filled with the detritus of preparations: a half-empty box of pins, some shoe black, and the last few slices of the coffee cake Molly had sent over with Ron that morning.

Hermione closed the door behind Severus, taking out her wand to reinforce their privacy with a few charms. When she was satisfied that they weren't going to be bothered, she turned back to him. 'I miss you.'

He shifted his weight, his gaze fixed on the floor.

She took a step closer to him, raising her arm and pressing a hand to his heart. Pleased that he didn't flinch or try to retreat, she felt his pulse growing faster beneath her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. 'I miss having you drop by my place after work. I miss talking to you. I miss the way my kitchen smells after you've cooked in it.'

His eyes were closed, but she could make out his eyelids fluttering.

Her voice was firmer now. 'I've wanted you for so long, Severus. Long before it made any sense for me to, considering that I thought you... that you were...'

 _Gay_. The unspoken word hung in the air between them.

She cleared her throat. 'I can't shake the feeling that something was going on between us before I knew the truth about you.'

He opened his eyes, looking at her warily, doubting her words.

'Why didn't you ever kiss me?' she asked. 'That would have cleared things up.'

'I am an old-fashioned man, Hermione,' he said, his voice quiet. 'Traditional.'

'I'm a fairly traditional woman, myself. That doesn't mean that I would been opposed to a sign of your interest.'

Severus spoke again. 'I wasn't sure you wanted me to.'

'It would have surprised the knickers off me, that's for sure.'

He smirked. 'Now _that_ would have been a sight to see.'

'You're incorrigible,' she said, playfully thumping his chest in response.

Slowly—oh, so slowly—he enfolded her in his arms. Her hands still resting on his torso, she kneaded his chest like a cat, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. Her gaze rested upon his neck and the scars that she found there, now barely visible against the unblemished skin of his pale throat.

To Hermione, it felt like they were moving towards something inevitable. There was no stopping it, nor any turning back.

When she lifted her eyes to his, she was startled by the depth of emotion written there. He smiled his crooked smile at her, and her breath caught in her chest. Was the blood coursing through her veins audible? It certainly seemed so as all other sensations faded away.

She vaguely knew that the other people attending the wedding were probably arriving at the reception now, and that they very well might be on the other side of the doors, but she just didn't care. She barely noticed anything other than the feeling of alertness in her body and her awareness of him.

His lips touched hers briefly once, twice. Then he pulled back and looked at her, somewhat guarded as his eyes searched hers, looking for something. It was nice enough, but Hermione wanted—

'More, please,' she said, surprised by the shakiness in her own voice.

He cocked his eyebrow, assessing her for a moment. When she opened her mouth to ask if anything was wrong, he leaned down and kissed her with renewed determination. His hands stroked her hips, and he took a few steps forward, continually kissing her as he pressed her back against the unyielding wood of the door.

He took control of the kiss, leading her with a kind of savage hunger as he explored her mouth with his insightful tongue.

Hermione had taken for granted how overwhelming a man like Severus could be. His presence was a physical force—something Hermione had long attributed to his power as a wizard. To be the object of the man's attentions? She had never experienced anything like it. His body was warm and firm, his breath smelled of mint and anise, and she was fairly certain she was only upright because he was holding her so.

She pressed herself against him, sliding her hands up to the base of neck as she tried to get closer to him still.

Suddenly, he moved his lips to her neck, gently biting the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder. Hermione tried not to be embarrassed by the variety of strange sounds she only distantly knew were coming from her own mouth.

With an odd jolt, she realised that Severus had picked her up off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist and relaxed her body as he carried her across the room.

Finally he sat down on the Georgian settee beside the fireplace, Hermione still wrapped around him like an anaconda around its next meal.

He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes fixed on her lips. 'What are we doing, Hermione?'

Taking his face in her hands, she placed a gentle kiss to his temple. 'We're getting something right for a change,' she said.

She pressed another kiss to his cheek, listening to the quietest of groans escaping him. 'We're taking what we want.'

A chaste kiss to his lips. 'I want _you_ , Severus Snape.'

Another to the underside of his jaw as she felt his breath, hot on her neck. 'And I think you want me.'

A rumbling from his chest turned into laughter that shook his whole body. He smiled at her with such warmth and openness that it stole Hermione's breath away.

She blushed down to her toes.

He captured her mouth in another primal kiss before breaking away. With mock severity, he asked, 'How do I know you're not interested in me for my money? We both know that I'm filthy rich thanks to my astute business acumen.'

She laid down on her back, pulling his body down over hers. 'How do I know you're not interested in me for my body? I _do_ possess a pair of glorious tits.'

He laughed again, sweeping his hands over her hips.

Hermione reveled in the sound, feeling powerful at her ability to affect him so.

'I haven't even been granted entry to those yet,' he said, raising his eyebrows in a nonverbal attempt to ask her permission.

She enjoyed the weight of him, resting in the cradle of her hips. Lifting her head, she gave the tip of his nose a quick peck. 'You can consider that my tacit consent.'

He did just that.

* * *

Roughly an hour later, a ghostly white stag entered the room, circling its disheveled occupants on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Severus spotted it first. While he logically knew that the spectre couldn't see anything, he still picked his discarded robes up off the ground and wrapped them around Hermione's upper body, shielding her breasts from its view.

'Potter,' he muttered under his breath.

 _Oh, bugger_ , Hermione thought. How long had she been in here with Severus? She had lost all track of time. Surely, the reception had already begun.

When the creature spoke, it was not with Harry's voice, but Draco's sardonic tones. 'I do _not_ need to know what my best man and Harry's best woman have found to occupy the last hour of their time, but they should both be aware that their speeches will be commencing in less than ten minutes. Woe betide you if you do not appear in the ballroom in less than five. Fully clothed!'

With the help of a few spells, they were both set to rights in three.

After an evening of toasts and speeches and dancing, Hermione and Severus found themselves alone on the ballroom floor. She had long since ditched her heels, and swayed in time with her ear pressed against his sternum.

The caterer flipped the lights a few times, signaling for them to clear out.

'That's our cue, Granger,' he said. 'What next?'

Hermione smiled up at him. 'You know, the best man and maid of honour are supposed to shag all night long, driven by loneliness and inebriation.'

'Are we?' he asked.

'Well, that's the cliché,' she replied, wincing at the word. She shook her head. 'I'm sorry. I don't do well with clichés.' Hermione looked into his eyes, searching for a sign that he wouldn't shut her out again. 'Let me rephrase that. It's tradition.'

Severus took the bouquet from her hands and threaded her hand through the crook of his arm. 'I am nothing if not traditional.'

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving kudos or a review! I'd love to hear your reactions.**


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